
Book._ 
GopightN - 



Hs_- 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 

OF 

STRATFORD AND LONDON 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 



OF 



STRATFORD AND LONDON 



A DRAMA IN FOUR ACTS 



BY 



MARGARET CROSBY MUNN 




NEW YORK 
DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY 

1910 






StaWpearfo 



Copyright, 1910, by 
MARGARET CROSBY MUNN 

All rights, including dramatic rights, reserved 
by Margaret Crosby Munn 

Published, May, 1910 



(QCI.D 21180 



o 
I 



To 

SfttB 

George Frederick Munn 



APOLOGIA 

To the Spirit of William Shakespeare 

// the light of an obscure Imagination 
Has touched for a moment some aspects of 

Your Veiled Life, 
Let its reverent apology be that the dream, 

Whether false or true, was unsought, 
And that it was noble enough not to be allowed 

To perish unrecorded. 



The vital and illuminated portrayal of Hamlet 
of Johnston Forbes-Robertson was the direct in- 
spiration of this play. In some subtle and inexplic- 
able manner the genius of the actor revealed to one 
listener, at least, the heart and soul of Shakespeare, 
even more, if possible, than that of Hamlet, and so 
to my friend, the Player, I record my grateful ac- 
knowledgment. 

M. C. M. 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 

A PLAY IN FOUR ACTS 
CHARACTERS IN THE PLAY 

William Shakespeare 
Earl of Southampton 
Earl of Essex 

William Herbert (called Lord Herbert, after- 
wards Earl of Pembroke) 

Sir Thomas Lucy 

Bailly — Chief Constable of Stratford 
Taverner — Second Constable of Stratford 
Foulke Sandells \ Friends of the mother of 
John Richardson J Anne Hathaway 

c Ca , y j- Stratford Lawyers 

Heminge } p 

Greene ) J 

Prtw Dumpser } PageS ° f Southaffl P ton 

Mistress Elisabeth Vernon, cousin of the Earl 
of Essex. 

Anne Hathaway, afterwards Anne Shakespeare 

Countess of Rutland 

Lady Bridget Manners, daughter of Countess 
of Rutland 

Phillida: Gentlewoman in waiting. to Elizabeth 
Vernon 

Lords, Ladies, Players, Gentlemen-in-wait- 
ing, Pages, Constables, Yeomen, Huntsmen, 
Pikemen and Villagers. 



ACT I 

The Caging of the Phoenix 

1582 
A Forest Glade in Charlecote Park, the coun- 
try-seat of Sir Thomas Lucy, near Stratford-on- 
Avon. 

ACT II 
The Flight 

1586 
Interior of the home of Shakespeare in Strat- 
ford-on-Avon 

ACT III 

[Twelve Years Later] 
The Lure of Elisabeth 

May, 1598 
The Inner Court of the London House of the 
Earl of Southampton. 

ACT IV 

The Pyre — The New Phoenix Rises from 
the Ashes 
June, 1598 

The Terrace and Garden of the Country 
House of the Earl of Southampton. 

The action of the play takes place between 
the years 1582 and 1598. 

Four years are supposed to have elapsed be- 
tween Acts I. and II. ; twelve years between 
Acts II. and III. ; four weeks between Acts III. 
and IV. 



ACT I 

THE CAGING OF THE PHOENIX 

1582 



ACT I 

THE CAGING OF THE PHOENIX 

1582 

Scene: \A Forest Glade in Charlecote 
Park, the country seat of Sir Thomas Lucy, 
near Stratford-on-Avon. A background of 
forest vistas. At left back a stream, sug- 
gested by low sloping banks. At left front 
the tangled roots of great oaks and beeches, 
and small rocks and mounds of moss appear 
above the sloping ground. Forest trees 
-flank each side of the stage. At the right, 
between an avenue of trees there is a space 
of greensward and then more trees. The 
whole scene suggests a remote sylvan soli- 
tude. The glimpses of sky and the long 
shadows indicate that the hour is near sunset. 
A man's voice is heard at left. Before the 
curtain rises men's voices are calling loudly 
to each other.) 



2 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

TAVERNER 

[From a distance.] 
Where Away? Bailly! I'm lost! 

BAILLY 

[Enters clambering over roots and rocks 
at left front.] 

I'm here, come on ! 

TAVERNER 

[Nearer."} 
Come where? 

BAILLY 

Here Fool! 

TAVERNER 

[Enters stumbling and climbing with 
difficulty over the roots, etc.] 

Well said, but fool no more! 

BAILLY 

How will you compass that? 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 3 

TAVERNER 

[Groaning.] My back! My legs! 

When young I wished to be a forester. 

My father balked my will. [Still stumbling 
and clambering.'] These twisted roots 

And knife-edged rocks have won my mind 
to his 

More than five years of well-planned argu- 
ment! 

This poaching lad may trap and catch and 
kill 

The deer, the fish, the birds of Charlecote 
Park 

Till all this Forest-land is still and void, 

But I'll not hunt him more! I'll be no more 

A constable. I'll tell Sir Thomas so. 

I will resign. 



BAILLY 

Resign? You speak with courage! 
What shall you do for work? How live? 
How eat? 



4 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

TAVERNER 

Think you I'll be a constable forever? 
/ have ambitions. I'm an ambitious man. 
I'm going to be a miller! Look through the 
trees 
[Enter from back six or seven yeomen 
armed with pikes and staves.] 
Where come our Guard! 

[Taverner goes to meet yeomen and 
they greet each other.] 



BAILLY 

No parleying, my friends. 
Bestow yourselves deep in the wood's green 

Heart, 
Crouch in the underbrush, hide behind rocks; 
Be very still and secret, but be keen. 
We'll keep this place — Go you to right and 

left, 
So every point be guarded quite, and when 
You hear three whistles, let you loose to me, 
Like gulls that swoop together to one spot 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 5 

Upon the sea, where floats the silly fish. 
Be off! 

THE YEOMEN 

Ay surely, sir. 

BAILLY 

Stay not too near. 
Note well ! Be hidden, and lie close to earth, 
So your dun doublets and green caps and 

cloaks 
Mingle with leaf and earth and grow to- 
gether. 
Be off, remember well my words! 

[The yeomen go to right and left and 
back and disappear. Voices are 
heard at left. Bailly listens.] 

What's that? 

TAVERNER 

A woman's voice. No fear! 

BAILLY 

A hopeless fool! 
Deep voices sound between the higher tones — 



6 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

A flute and two bass-viols! Some gypsy-folk 

Wander the wood, seeking to pitch their 
tents. 

They'll not stop here; these trees are massed 
too thick. 

We'll hide, and when they pass we'll keep 
our watch 

Until the deer and does come down to drink; 

Then shall we catch our stag. 

[Goes to back as voices approach.] 

Be quick! They come! 
[Bailly and Tavemer disappear entirely 
amidst the trees at back. , Enter has- 
tily Anne Hathaway followed by 
Foulke Sandells and John Richardson, 
both elderly men, through the clearing 
where the stream is supposed to How 
at left back.] 

ANNE HATHAWAY 

[Turning indignantly on Sandells and 
Richardson.'] 
Let me alone ! Why do you follow me ? 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 7 

SANDELLS 

Why do you follow him ? 

ANNE 

Why question me? 
You well know that I will not answer you. 
I scarce escaped the village street this noon, 
When in the lane that leads to Charlecote 

wood, 
Your shadows fell upon the sunny road 
Before my eyes. Your footsteps followed 

mine. 
At ejyery turn I looked and hard behind 
Panting for bceath, with curious eyes, you 

came. 
This wood is free to rest or walk or — weep. 
Yet in this solitude you spy me out. 
'T is infamous! 

RICHARDSON 

Your mother bade us come. 
That is our warrant. That our whole ex- 
cuse. 



8 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

If such needs be. [to Sandells.] An open 

question, Foulke? 
This wood is free, as Anne most justly says! 
For us to stray in — as it is for her. 

SANDELLS 

Your mother bade us come and bring you 
home. 

ANNE 

[Scornfully. ] 
My mother dreams ! 

RICHARDSON 

To wake you from your dream! 
That you a woman grown and ripe in years 
Should spend your life in wasteful worship of 
A Boy! — ev'n worse, a pestilential thief! 
A Law-Defier, — twice whipt and once in 

prison. 
An empty purse — an empty house — an 

empty head ! 
Beggared in all that makes life rich and 

full 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 9 

Yet of such mad and wanton mirth fulness, 
That he goes singing through the village 

streets 
His eyes oft skyward fixed, his step so light 
That one might dream he'd chanting mount 

to heaven, 
Like any meadow-lark! ... a public 

shame ! 



SANDELLS 

Anne, he speaks truth; you must give up this 
lad. 

RICHARDSON 

This marriage shall not be, your mother 

swears. 
See him no more. See that you give him up. 

ANNE 

[With restrained anger.'} 
How then resign that one possesses not? 
There is no thought of marriage. I am free. 



io WILL SHAKESPEARE 

RICHARDSON 

You play with words. To what does dal- 
liance lead? 
[They both draw near her where she 
stands in centre.~\ 
Before you we would place the steely shield 
Of our protection. Lead you to solid ground. 
And all this may be if you give him up. 



ANNE 

[With intensity of anger and drawing 
back toward left; they follow.] 
For once, I'll speak, Sandells and Richardson. 
Does it protect me that you spy on me, 
Distract my only hour of quietness, 
Tear from my heart its sacred woman's veil 
And peep upon its bleeding? O I could 

laugh 
If anger did not make me nearer tears! 
Beggared he is? What of it? We are rich. 
An empty head devoid of all but song? 
My head counts pennies all day long at home ! 



WILL SHAKESPEARE n 

Place me on solid ground? I know no 

ground 
That's firm except my love. It bears me 
well. 
[Advances swiftly toward the two men 
who draw away terrified.'] 
Go tell my mother I obedience owe 
To none. I cannot be coerced or led — 
And opposition to my fixed will 
Turns all my blood to poison in my veins. 
Hate of your meddling consumes me now — 
Go — go — my rage is mounting to my brain, 
Hardening my heart. Had I been left alone 
Good might have come. Peace to my moth- 
er's life, 
Prosperity to him I love. . . . All's 
gone! 
[Turns to left back and flings herself 
down near one of the moss-covered 
mounds and leans against it, covering 
her face with her hands, trembling. 
Sandells and Richardson stand con- 
fused in centre watching her.] 



12 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

SANDELLS 

Shall we speak more? 

RICHARDSON 

Since that she was a child, 
Her mood once turned to anger changes not. 

SANDELLS 

We'll go. 

RICHARDSON 

I'll tell her mother what she says. 

SANDELLS 

Facing her anger all my mind was changed. 

RICHARDSON 

The truth she spoke cut deep into my heart, 
And made our studied preachment lies. 

SANDELLS 

Suppose — she marries him? What harm 
would come? 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 13 

In very truth her mother's rich for three. 
He might quit poaching if his purse were full, 
And we'd be free from warding of the maid! 



RICHARDSON 

The mating of an eagle and a hawk! 

Cage him and he would die, and she would 

plunge 
Her talons in his heart. This should not be! 
She is a woman too — these fifteen years — 
He — in the very prime of callowness! 



SANDELLS 

There's no solution else. 

RICHARDSON 

[Hastily.] She's stirring! Let us go! 

SANDELLS 

It is the way of wisdom! 



i 4 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

RICHARDSON 

Follow me! 
We'll all rehearse unto her mother. Come! 
[Exit — Richardson and Sandells softly 
at left front.] 

ANNE 

[Raising her arms with a wild gesture.] 
Will! Will! Will! Will! 

[She again buries her head on her arms 
and lies still. A pause follows. The 
greensward between the long avenue 
of trees at right is more brightly 
lighted by sunlight than the centre 
and left of the stage which is more 
shaded by the trees. At the furthest 
end of this sunlit avenue a youth 
about seventeen or eighteen years old 
enters. His air is that of joyous irre- 
sponsibility. He comes to front very 
slowly with a loitering step, constantly 
stopping and looking up into the trees 
as if watching the birds. He has a gun 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 15 

and fishing-rod and tackle slung on his 
back. About half-way down the ave- 
nue there is a clump of flowers grow- 
ing at the foot of a large tree. He 
stops and bends to look at them. 
Then he lifts off his gun and fishing- 
rod and lays them on the grass behind 
the tree. He gathers the flowers and 
after carefully examining them he 
kisses them and puts them in the belt 
of his doublet and goes on slowly to 
front. All the while he is singing.'] 

SHAKESPEARE 

[Sings.] 
O love me not when I am dead ! 

[When low lies heart and head.] 
O praise me not when I am gone ! 
[The years are hastening on.] 

The crowns of love and happiness 
That would my eager spirit bless, 
Give to me now, nor do thou wait 
Until it be too late, too late! 



i6 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

[While he sings he pauses frequently to 
stoop and look at -flowers and herbs, 
and then goes on again. He comes to 
front and turning to cross, sees Anne 
Hathaway at left back. He raises his 
hands and lets them fall in half- 
amused, careless surprise.'] 

Again the stormy Anne! 
[Goes nearer.] 
How low she lies, poor Petrel ! Beaten down 
Into the deepest hollow of the waves 
By the wild tempest she herself creates. 
I'll blow my gentlest breeze and bring a calm ! 
[He goes softly to back and bends over 
Anne, standing beside her so that his 
face is seen.] 
She's sleeping! — While her face is wet with 

tears 
And wrung by violence within — Sleep! 

Sleep ! 
Poor tortured soul! In thy sea-depths 
There lies the Pearl of Peace — while thou art 
still 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 17 

'Twill slowly rise, milk-white and luminous 
And spread a tranquil balm! Sleep! Sleep! 
[He withdraivs and goes toward the tree 
where his gun is lying. Before he 
reaches it, Anne stirs and raising her 
head sees him. She hurriedly rises- 
stands irresolutely,— then smoothes 
her hair with her hands and goes 
toward Shakespeare who does not yet 
see that she has waked.'] 

ANNE 

[In a slightly supplicating tone.] 

Will! [then louder] Will! 

SHAKESPEARE 

[Turning quickly.] 
Your sleep was short. Pray Heaven it was 
sweet. 



ANNE 

[Coming nearer to him.] 
Why are you wandering in the wood to-day? 



18 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

SHAKESPEARE 

I have a tryst. 

ANNE 

[Impulsively, and with suspicion.'] 

A tryst? What village maid 
Pursues you to the heart of Charlecote Park? 

SHAKESPEARE 

[With simplicity and humor. ] 
None Anne, save you. 

ANNE 

[With impatience.] 

Men make not trysts with men. 

' SHAKESPEARE 

With no man's son am I pledged here to-day. 

ANNE 

[With growing irritability."] 
You veil the truth with double answering. 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 19 

SHAKESPEARE 

[With mischievous simplicity.'] 
I speak the simple truth. Nor doth maid nor 

man 
Entice me here. [Anne looks relieved. ] 

And yet I trysting come! 
[Anne again is angry.] 
The truth perturbs your mind. Let me 

try Fancy now. 
[He speaks with mystery, drawing close 

to her.] 
A Dryad haunts this wood; she loves a Faun. 
Her steps tread down the earth beneath her 

feet 
As do a Queen's the footstool for her state. 
Her parted, burnished, brown-gold, curling 

hair 
Shadows her whitest forehead and her brows 
Lie sternly level over proud, deep eyes, 
That know their rule over men's roving 

hearts. 
Her lips, a rose's petals, nobly carved. 



20 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

Fulfil her eyes despotic ravishing: 

And with her comes the fragrant, woodland 

breath 
Of sylvan glades recessed, and hidden pools 
Where she has loved and dreamed through 

thund'rous nights. 

ANNE 

[With fierce jealousy.] 
You speak of a real woman. Is't not true? 

SHAKESPEARE 

Who is more real than she of whom I dream ? 
Last night by starlight I lay musing here 
She fled to me and wept. Her faun was 

false, 
A Nixie's thrall. Her vengeance I've as- 
sumed. 
The Faun and I will fight at set of sun. 
Ev'n now I think I see his leaf-crowned head 
Peering upon me from behind that oak, 
And hear the drawing of his bow — 

[He advances with sudden swiftness to 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 21 

'Anne and takes her arm and points to 
a tree at right near front.~\ 

There! There! 

ANNE 

[Who has listened and looked as if un- 
der a spell, screams and hides her face 
on his arm.~\ 

pity — save me ! I am terrified. 

SHAKESPEARE 

[First laughs lightly — then as she moves 
from him and he sees her frightened 
face he becomes grave. ,] 

1 ever am at fault with you. I thought 

To bring your smiles. Instead, I rouse your 
fears. 
[Still more gravelyJ] 
My idle fantasy must not delay 
Your homeward-tending steps. See! The 

sun sinks! 
Your mother watches for you; you must go. 
[He leads her gently to left and she, as 



22 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

if still under a spell, yields. Suddenly 
she stops and again speaks with sus- 
picion."] 

ANNE 

True, it is late. Why then stay here alone? 

SHAKESPEARE 

I never am alone. 

ANNE 

[Violently.] You falsify! 
I spied you quite alone this very hour. 

SHAKESPEARE 

A vast procession endlessly denies 
Along the tortuous avenues of my brain. 
This wood would be the highway of the world 
If they should throng its aisles. Lovers and 

queens, 
Kings, courtiers, fairies, maids, spirits of 

earth, 
And Heaven, are crowding here. 
[Touches head.] 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 23 

Some not far day, 
They'll steal into my heart and live. 

ANNE 

[With dense bewilderment.] 

My word! 
I understand you not. 

SHAKESPEARE 

Delay you not. 

ANNE 

With hard discourtesy you drive me hence. 

SHAKESPEARE 

Not so. But have it so if so you will. 
[Urges her gently to left."] 

ANNE 

Cruel ! You suffer not — you know not grief. 

SHAKESPEARE 

I suffer, yet am not unhappy, Anne. 
How pertinently you half speak the truth. 



24 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

ANNE 

Danger still hed'ges you. Your father 

mourns — 
He is no more an alderman, 'tis said. 

SHAKESPEARE 

They've dragged his robe of office from his 

back 
That was so straight with pride; for a just 

fine 
Last week he could not even four pence pay. 

ANNE 

I'll pay his fines. Such trouble should not be. 
[She takes out her purse and offers him 
money. ] 

SHAKESPEARE 

Put up your purse. I'll slave or sin for him, 
But I'll not weep! Something is singing 
here — 
[Touches breast.'] 
That hidden in this fooling life I lead, 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 25 

There is a magic, and a mystery- 
Waiting some kiss of fate to spring to birth 
And wrap me in its glow and ecstasy. 
That is reality — this mere trifling play. 

[Anne listens bewildered.'] 
Go now. No longer stay your steps. Go 
now. 

ANNE 

You are a boy. Yet in your eyes and voice 
You are a master, and I must obey. 

[Exit Anne. Shakespeare leads her 
away and then returns and springs 
gaily toward the tree behind which his 
gun and fishing-rod are lying. ~\ 

SHAKESPEARE 

Come now, my trysting deer! My father 

waits 
Hungering sore. My trespass wins him 

strength. 
I'll seek my traps hid deep in brush and 

brake. 



26 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

[Exit Shakespeare carrying gun, etc., at 
left back near stream. The sound of 
horses and carriage approaching by 
the grassy avenue at right is heard. 
A little boy's voice speaks, just out of 
sight. A travelling carriage somewhat 
splendid in color and ornament is 
driven into the grassy space between 
the trees at right. The postilions turn 
on their horses and watch while the 
door of the carriage is Hung open and 
a little boy about nine years old tries 
to get out. Two men inside the coach, 
dressed in the most fashionable cos- 
tume of the period, try to prevent his 
alighting. He wears a courtier's cos- 
tume of pale blue satin with a plumed 
hat, and curls of golden auburn fall on 
his shoulders.'} 

EARL OF SOUTHAMPTON 

[Struggling with the two men.~\ 
I pray you, gentlemen, hinder me not! 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 27 

I'll walk awhile beside the stream. 

[He frees himself and springs out of 
the carriage.} 

FIRST GENTLEMAN 

[Follows him.] My Lord, 

Lord Burleigh waits for you at Kenilworth. 

SECOND GENTLEMAN 

[Also getting out of carriage.'] 
We are in honour bound to hasten there 
And place you in his arms without delay. 

SOUTHAMPTON 

My guardian tells his wishes all to me, 
And I obey them — when my pleasure suits. 
Then he is happy too and all is well. 

[Looks up the river and claps his 

hands.] 
I see a darling swan that slowly floats 
Just — just beyond the turning of the stream! 
[Both the gentlemen roughly take his 

hands and try to lead him back to the 

carriage.] 



28 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

FIRST GENTLEMAN 

Come, come, Lord Southampton, the car- 
riages 
Outstrip us by five miles. We must press on. 
[Southampton shakes himself free and 
speaks passionately.'] 

SOUTHAMPTON 

I tell you if my Guardian were but by 

He would be happy if I rested here 

In this dear wood. I would be here alone. 

[To postilions.] 
Drive on a little space. Quite out of sight. 

[The carriage drives on just out of 
sight.] 

[To Gentlemen.] 
Follow the carriage, you, else I shall tell 
Lord Burleigh how you laid rough hands on 

me. 
But if you will be kind and grant my wish 

[Coaxingly.] 
My little, little wish, I'll silence keep. 
My word of honour! 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 29 

[The two gentlemen who have looked 
alarmed, confer together and then fol- 
low the carriage, first bowing low.] 

FIRST GENTLEMAN 

Humbly, we obey. 
[Exit gentlemen, Southampton stands 
in centre. Shakespeare enters from 
left back carrying gun in his hand. 
He stops in surprise at the sight of 
Southampton who looks at him with 
the same surprise."] 

SHAKESPEARE 

More beautiful than was my Dryad! Gods! 
He is not real ... I know he is not 
real! 

SOUTHAMPTON 

Who are you ? Will you shoot me with your 

gun? 
Fve read of robbers — [Comes closer.] 

May I see your cave? 
If you will hide me there, be very sure 
My guardian will a royal ransom pay. 



30 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

SHAKESPEARE 

How exquisite, how fair his fashioning — 
Heaven's own best make! How tripping 

sweet his speech! 
Lovelier than all my dreams! He must have 

strayed 
From some far, magic palace. 

[With half mocking gaiety, ,] 

Little Prince 
Of Fairyland, my gun is but a: toy 
That I do sometimes — play a little with — 
As you yourself do sometimes play, mayhap, 
With that most splendid sword slung at your 

side. 
Tell me, if it so please your gracious will, 
Whence do you come and whither do you go? 

SOUTHAMPTON 

You speak as did the players at the Queen's 
Great birthday feast last year, — but gentlier. 
I go to Kenilworth. I come from London. 

SHAKESPEARE 

How rudely he dissolves my dream; And 
yet 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 31 

The charm remains! Merely to Kenilworth 
He goes! 

SOUTHAMPTON 

I'm tired of Kenilworth! Instead 
I would stop here with you in this green 

wood, 
Swim in that deep, clear stream, follow its 

curves 
And touch the whitest feather of that swan. 
Then gather flowers wild and sweet, like 

those 
You wear. The loveliest I've ever seen! 



SHAKESPEARE 

[Removing flowers from his belt.'] 
Will then your Highness take with you these 

flowers ? 
The only homage I can offer now ! 
I heard once, or perhaps I — merely — 

dreamed — 
Of one sweet, weakling soul — She drowned 

for grief!— 



32- WILL SHAKESPEARE 

Who gathered flowers like these, — it may 

ha,ve been — 
And gave them ev'n as I do now, — and told 
Their names with fancies such as these — 
[He gives the flowers one by one to 

Southampton.] 

Here is 
Tender Forget-me-not, and here Narcissus, 
'T was named for him who died in ages 

gone 
For love of his own beauty. So might you. 
And Violets that mean Love and Death — 

and one 
Small, sweet, Blush Rose to nestle at your 

heart. 
[Southampton looks bewildered at his 

words but takes the flowers. ~] 

SOUTHAMPTON 

[Looking at Howers.~\ 
Lovelier than those they plant in Kenilworth ! 

SHAKESPEARE 

In Kenilworth what pastimes will refresh, 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 33 

And with what royal comrades shall you 
meet? 



SOUTHAMPTON 

I'll play at Bowls and Tennis and I'll see 
The Lady Bridget Manners. 

SHAKESPEARE 

Bridget Manners! 

Sweet powers of Melody! But what a name! 

Manners should mate with — something musi- 
cal! 

But is she kind, this Bridget? Does your 
suit 

To her fare sweetly? Unfold now your heart. 

SOUTHAMPTON 

[Pouting."] She flouts me. 

SHAKESPEARE 

Ah! How more than passing strange 
That any little maid so hard should be, 



34 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

When I a man am wax to my heart's core 
With one note of your voice's piercing sweet ! 
[Enter from right back, timidly, the two 
gentlemen in waiting."] 



FIRST GENTLEMAN 

[Humbly.'] 
My Lord of Southampton, the hour is late. 



SECOND GENTLEMAN 

Indeed, we fear Lord Burleigh's wrath, my 
Lord. 

The while this woodland hind stands parley- 
ing. 

SOUTHAMPTON 

I'll keep my promise, and I will come now. 
[The two gentlemen look at Shakespeare 

rudely.] 
Salute this gentleman. He is my friend. 
He gave me these sweet flowers and he 

speaks 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 35 

Something as does the Queen, when she com- 
mands 

And every one obeys. 

[The gentlemen unwillingly bow, remov- 
ing their hats, and Shakespeare re- 
turns the bow carelessly but with equal 
courtesy, Southampton holds out his 
hand to Shakespeare who takes it in 
his and kisses it J] 

You have been kind 

To me — I wish I could be kind to you ! 

SHAKESPEARE 

Remember me, when to your Fairyland 

You come. 

[Exit Southampton and the two gentle- 
men in waiting at right back. Shake- 
speare stands gazing after them as if 
in a dream. The sun-light has grown 
dimmer and more golden. *A crackling 
sound is heard in the bushes by the 
stream at left back. Shakespeare 
draws his hand over his eyes as if he 



36 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

were waking from sleep. Then with 
his gun in his hand, held ready to 
shoot, he steals swiftly and silently to 
the stream and crouches down by the 
bushes, in sight of the audience, close 
to where the sound is still heard. A 
pause.} 

SHAKESPEARE 

[Speaks softly.] 

It is a doe! I'm sorry for't. 
I can't betray the curious innocence 
Of those broad brows, that gentle, liquid 

gaze. 
I'll catch it with a noose and take it home; 
And when my father's hunger's fierce within 

him, 
If that he will, he'll kill it for himself. 
So — So — 

[He unlooses a rope slung with his fish- 
ing tackle and making a noose throws 
it and catches the doe and leads it 
toward the front centre of the stage. 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 37 

From the back, from behind the most 
distant trees, Tavemer and Bailly 
rush forward and catch Shakespeare 
by the arms. Shakespeare still holding 
the leash flings them both off and with 
the doe runs to back. Bailly puts his 
whistle to his lips and whistles once 
loudly. ] 

SHAKESPEARE 

[Laughing as he begins to run, after 
throwing off the two men!\ 

A merry chase! Your sturdy legs 
Against my long ones! 

{Immediately after Bailly blows his 
whistle, three or four constables and 
yeomen run forward from behind the 
trees at back. Shakespeare sees them 
and turns abruptly to left. Bailly 
whistles a second time and two or three 
more appear from left near the stream. 
Shakespeare turns to right but as he 
runs toward it Bailly whistles a third 



38 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

time and several more run forward at 
right. All surround Shakespeare.'] 

SHAKESPEARE 

Ah! I'm caught! I'm caught! 
[He struggles with the men and throws 
them off.] 
The odds against me are by far too strong. 
But you, at least, shall go unhurt and free. 
Go little Gentleness! 

[He releases doe and pushes it toward 
left back toward the stream. The doe 
slips between the yeomen and disap- 
pears at the same spot where it first 
appeared. Taverner has been scram- 
bling to his feet and rubbing his back 
and head. He rushes forward as the 
men again seize Shakespeare.] 

TAVERNER 

Disarm him! Bind him! 
[To Shakespeare, shaking his fist in his 
face.] 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 39 

You Infamy! You murderous young Fiend! 

You threw me down! Flung me, a man of 
Place 

Upon the ground! Bind him without delay. 
[The men hesitate and then tie Shake- 
speare's hands behind his back, after 
taking his gun, etc., from him. 
Shakespeare submits. He wears an ex- 
pression of alert but impersonal irtr 
terest in what is happening.'] 

BAILLY 

[Coming forward.] 
Why do you bind him? He cannot escape. 

A CONSTABLE 

'T was Master Taverner commanded us. 

BAILLY 

That's foolishness. Unbind forthwith his 
hands. 

[To Taverner.] 
It shames strong men to bind a slender youth. 

[The men obey.] 



40 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

SHAKESPEARE 

[Smiles. To Bailly."] 
Why, Sir, you have a fine sense of propor- 
tion, 
And I thank you. 

[He shakes hands with several of the 
men in succession.'] 

Well met Colin, — Robin — 
Tame hunting for you, friends, with twenty 

hounds 
Full cry upon a solitary hare! 

[Enter hastily Sir Thomas Lucy from 
back, accompanied by a farm bailiff, 
yeomen and huntsmen. All make way 
for him. He looks about the group 
and sees Shakespeare.] 

BAILLY 

Sir Thomas Lucy ! 

SIR THOMAS 

[To Bailly.] 

You have trapped your stag! 
Your whistles borne upon the evening air 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 41 

Came to the open meadows where I walk 
At close of day, and told the game was 

caught. 
[Goes to Shakespeare and speaks 

sternly. ] 
Your thieving vagabondage now shall cease. 
No more in Stratford nor in Charlecote Park 
Shall you, a public nuisance, go at large. 
You shall be whipt again, — prisoned again, — 
And when your term of durance has an end 
You shall be banished from this country 

side 
To wander outlawed in some distant land. 

SHAKESPEARE 

[Earnestly, as if agreeing with hint.] 
Most wisely said! Yet sterner than is need- 
ful. 
[While Sir Thomas speaks, Anne Hatha- 
way has re-entered at left, followed by 
Sand ells and Richardson. All three 
look anxious and agitated. Anne hears 
all that Sir Thomas says. As he stops 



42 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

speaking she goes swiftly to Shake- 
speare with a cry of intense grief.] 



ANNE 

All this I could have saved you from ! Ah me ! 
[She sinks at his feet, fainting. Shake- 
speare and Sandells bend over her and 
try to revive her. One of the con- 
stables brings water from the stream 
in a cup.] 



SIR THOMAS 

Who is this woman ? 



RICHARDSON 

'T is Anne Hathaway, 
Daughter of Richard Hathaway — 

SIR THOMAS 

Of Shottery. 
If memory serves me right he died last year; 
I held him in my high esteem and trust: 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 43 

A prosperous man. — How comes his daugh- 
ter here? 
[What is this out-at-elbow scamp to her? 

RICHARDSON 

Your Worship, Tis a most unlucky case. 
She loves him, and is fain to marry him. 

SIR THOMAS 

His bride shall be the chain that fetters him. 

RICHARDSON 

[Insinuatingly.] 
If that your Worship would a moment 
hear — ! 
[Sir Thomas silently assents.] 

RICHARDSON 

'Tis one of those strange cases that defy 
The will of man — th' opposing of events. 
She loves him and is fain to marry him. 
She may not be turned from him. But in 

truth 
Her mother's rich in gold and loves her child ! 



44 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

Anne's of full age — in fact these long years 

past! 
If Will were freed, she'd surely marry him. 
If that the penalties your Worship names 
Could be transformed by magic of your will 
To fines, that could be paid in solid coin 
To be disbursed for prospering the town 
She'd gladly pay them all. Sandells and I 
Come now from conference in the wood with 

her. 
Hearing the turmoil, we returned together. 

SHAKESPEARE 

[Who has overheard what Richardson has 
said, starts away from Anne Hatha- 
way and draws near Sir Thomas and 
Richardson.] 
Enough! I'll bear my punishment alone. 

SIR THOMAS 

[To Shakespeare. ] 
Silence is seeming in a prisoner. 

[To Richardson, in a lower tone.] 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 45 

There's wisdom in your thought; but there's 

no edge 
In money that will clip this Eaglet's wings. 
[Shakespeare seems about to speak, 

when Richardson silences him by a 

gesture.] 

RICHARDSON 

[Aside to Sir Thomas.] 
If you will grant me, sir, a moment's speech 
With this unruly youth, my words may tame, 
Where whips and bars have maddened to 
more wildness. 



SIR THOMAS 

Most willingly. 

[Richardson goes to Shakespeare and 
draws him to front centre.] 



RICHARDSON 

Listen! Here is your chance. 
The last youth offers you. An open door 



46 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

To freedom, honour, peace, prosperity. 

Anne's heart is yours, why not your life for 
her? 

Her mother will consent, to silence tongues. 

If these things do not move your will per- 
verse, 

Bent on mere wantonness of idling sport; — 

Think of your Father where he mourning 
sits, 

Bereft of place and fortune ere life's close. 

Before it be too late repair his loss, 

And bring a happy end to all this pain. 

[Shakespeare listens with close but im- 
personal attention.'] 



SHAKESPEARE 

I would these things could move me; they dp 
not. 
[At this moment Anne wakens from her 
faint and moans. Richardson goes to 
her and Shakespeare turns to look.] 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 47 

ANNE 

Alas, Will! 

[Shakespeare starts, goes to her, and 
bends over her. Anne looks up at him 
piteously and speaks with intensity. .] 
Banished. Then life's stopped for me ! 

So let me die. 

[Shakespeare looks at her with pro- 
found pity. Then he slowly moves 
away from her toward front. As Anne 
sees him go she moans again, holds 
out her hands toward him with a des- 
perate movement and then sinks back 
in apparent unconsciousness. Shake- 
speare stands in front looking for- 
ward."] 

SHAKESPEARE 

Imprisoned I was free — 1 
Though caged, my steps were never turned 

aside 
From that free Highway of the Soul, whence I 



48 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

Looked forth upon the Vision of the World, 
And up into the Treasury of Heaven. 
But there are airless prisons of this life, 
Where living men and dead are chained to- 
gether : 
Where white-winged birds are caged with 

beasts that crawl 
And burrow in the slime. Such do I fear; 
Such are some marriages that I have known. 
The flower-covered traps — Gold and Re- 
pute — 
They catch me not. Even my father's grief 
Does not compel the bondage of my life 
That dimly knows the trailing comet's flight. 
[With a sudden change looking toward 
Anne."] 
But this poor woman — beaten, torn and 

crushed 
By violence of passion, by her unsought — 
A helpless target, struck in th' core of being 
By the barbed, wandering shaft of Love — 
She calls — she calls for largesse from my 
heart ! 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 49 

\_A short pause."] 
There is a blindness in the soul of man 
When all the Powers of Darkness have their 

way. 
We dream — we wake — and Life belies our 

dream. 
'T was perfect — and there's nothing here to 

match it. 
Yet ever onward must we fare and live, 
And act; blindly spring forward in the dark, 
Or rot in self -reproachful, base inaction. 
What is my outer life worth now to me? 
Whipt, prisoned, banished, all because 
I play with any passing toy for joy of being, 
And for the lack of — Stars and Goddesses! 

[The sun sinks out of sight."] 
That blindness — It is on me now — 
Only one path to tread, one thing to do. 
A worthless life! But if it save another's, 
And make it bloom, it has some right to be. 
\_He goes quickly to Anne, and kneeling 

on one knee beside her, takes her hand. 

She wakens and looks at him. H? 



50 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

speaks lightly and with gracious court- 
esy.'] 
If that a life so tattered and so slight, 
So out of all repute held good by these, — 
[Indicates the group standing near — Sir 
Thomas, Sandells and Richardson. .] 
Can mend and strengthen yours, why then — 
'tis yours. 

ANNE 

WHat do you mean? I do not understand? 
[Sandells and Richardson look de- 
lighted.] 

SIR THOMAS 

[Laughing.] 
Wise Youth! He chooses Marriage Bells, 

instead 
Of clanking chains. Kisses for stinging 

lashes. 

ANNE 

[In dazed wonderment.] 
You'll marry me? 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 51 

SHAKESPEARE 

It seems my destined fate: 
And I believe that one day it shall be. 

[Yeomen and constables crowd around 
shaking his hands and smiling.'} 

SIR THOMAS 

iWitH this most fortunate conclusion, Friends, 
Let us each homeward go. The twilight 

falls. 
To-morrow in the town we'll ratify 
With pen and seal what here is merely speech. 
[All go out of wood at back and left. 
The yeomen and constables first. 'As 
the younger yeomen go, they sing.] 

Song. 

Sunlight dietH, 

Daylight flieth, 
Homeward now! 
Leave the furrow, leave the plough, 
Rest beneath the bending bough. 



52 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

After toiling, 

Rugged moiling, 
Follows rest. 
Homing swallows find the nest, 
Find we each the True-Love's breast. 

By the gleaming 

River's streaming, 
Waits the maid. 
Dost thou linger ? Art affrayed ? 
Hasten! Clasp her — undismayed! 

[Then follow Sir Thomas Lucy and the 
farm bailiff. Then Sandells and Rich- 
ardson. Shakespeare has helped Anne 
to rise to her feet. She looks revived 
and seems to question him earnestly 
and he to answer. At last she smiles 
and turns to follow the others. 
Shakespeare stands motionless as if in 
deepest thought. ] 

ANNE 

[Holding out her hand.] 
Come, Will! 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 53 

[Shakespeare turns quickly and takes her 
outstretched hand and they go to- 
gether a few steps. Then Anne stops 
suddenly."] 

You say that you will marry me, 
But will you love me? 

SHAKESPEARE 

I'll be patient with you. 
Be patient then with me. 

[They go on a little further. Shake- 
speare turns and looks toward the oak 
to which he pointed when he spoke of 
the faun with whom he was to fight. ~\ 

Farewell my Dryad! 
[They go.] 

[Yeomen repeat second verse of song 

softly, in the distance, as the curtain 

descends.] 

After toiling, 

Rugged moiling, 
Follows rest. 
Homing swallows find the nest, 
Find we each the True-Love's breast. 



54 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

CURTAIN 

Note — First Act — The difficulty of bringing 
a live doe on the stage in the first act can be 
overcome easily by not having it appear on the 
stage, but having the noise in the bushes heard, 
and a portion of the body of a live or stuffed 
doe seen in the distance in the bushes. Shake- 
speare can go into the bushes and noose it, and 
afterwards can untie it and release it in the 
same way. 



ACT II 

THE FLIGHT 
1586 



Note — Second Act — As the orchestra comes 
to the end of the interlude between Act I and 
Act 2, it plays the refrain of an old spinning 
song — the violins imitating the whir of the 
wheel. The music ceases just before the cur- 
tain rises. While the curtain is still down, the 
thump and whir of a spinning wheel is heard, 
and an old woman's voice sings a song to the 
same refrain which the orchestra has been play- 
ing; the curtain comes up while she. is singing, 
showing a dark room. 



ACT II 

THE FLIGHT 
1586 

Scene i. [Before the curtain rises a wo- 
man's voice is heard singing to the whir and 
thump of a spinning wheel. ~\ 

Song 
He kissed me once upon the lips 

And since that time my heart has burned, 
As the wild bee who honey sips 
He left me and has ne'er returned. 

Ah wellaway! 

I'll braid my love-locks like a crown, 
My shoes upon my feet I'll bind — 

I'll seek him far as London-town, 
I'll seek — but shall I ever find? 

Ah wellaway! 

57 



58 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

[As the song ceases the curtain rises. 
The scene is living-room of the house 
of Shakespeare in Stratford-on-Avon. 
The room is almost dark. At the back 
in the centre is a wide door. On either 
side is a large square window. All 
open directly on street, but are closed 
and darkened by heavy wooden shut- 
ters, through whose chinks the early 
daylight gleams. Enter from door at 
right Anne. She looks older with lines 
of ill-temper \and discontent on her 
forehead.'} 

ANNE 

[Groping her way to the nearest window.'] 
How dark it is ! 

[She throws open the wooden shutters 
and the window, and the white morn- 
ing light, without sunlight, fills the 
room. Through the window is seen 
the village street and opposite houses. 
The walls of the room are hung with 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 59 

an arras of painted cloths, much faded 
and tattered. It is simply furnished 
with old wooden cupboards, tables, 
chairs and settles. There are doors at 
the right and left. At the left there is 
a large fire-place where a few embers 
smoulder. Anne stands at the win- 
dow.] 

How damp and chill! One would swear it 
were March not May! 
[She goes to the other window and -flings 
open the shutters with a powerful 
movement. All her actions are strong, 
sudden, energetic. She shivers and 
goes to the fire. She speaks with 
anger.'] 

The fire nigh out and no wood! The careless 
oaf! 
[She goes to the door at right.] 

Will! 

[She goes to the arras to straighten its 
folds and as she twitches it with sharp 
jerks the portion she touches comes off 



60 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

in her hand. She flings it to the 

floor.] 
Plague on these wretched rags! All's rotting 
here. There's not a woman of family in 
Stratford who has not had new cloths since 
two years back and these were old when I 
wore pinafores! Will! 

[Enter Shakespeare from right. He 

looks but slightly older than before. 

As he enters the sunlight floods the 

village street and shines into the 

room.] 

SHAKESPEARE 

[Going to the window and looking out.] 
There is magic working with the gray church 
tower — no stone remains; naught but gold 
tracery against a sapphire sky. Look, Anne! 

ANNE 

[Speaking with quick energy.] 
There lacks time for looking out of window. 
I go to Shottery this hour. 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 61 

SHAKESPEARE 

Wherefore? 

ANNE 

That my mother should longer nourish our 
children makes my body tingle with shame. 
She has harboured them now two months. I 
go to Shottery to fetch them home. 

SHAKESPEARE 

\He has listened with a half frown, but 
smiles as he speaks. ,] 
'Tis sweeter when they're here ! 

ANNE 

Sweeter! Can we think of sweetness when 
they are to be fed and clothed? I sent them 
to my mother that they might prosper by her 
bounty. But she is old. She wearies even of 
their play ! Last week her pale face smote me 
and the neighbors' eyes when they see me 
here alone, make my brain burn and breed a 
madness in me, 



62 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

SHAKESPEARE 

They might have rested here. 

ANNE 

And starved! You speak too easily. Five 
to feed even when we count not your father 
and your mother. 

SHAKESPEARE 

[Lightly.'] 
You speak too largely. There has ever been 
enough for all. 

ANNE 

You seem to think our children should be 
content with food and clothing. 

SHAKESPEARE 

[With mischief.'] 
There is scripture warrant for that ! 

ANNE 

You seek to anger me. 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 63 

SHAKESPEARE 

Ah, no! Believe me, no! 

ANNE 

No man in all Stratford has done so little 
for his children as you ! Indeed you do noth- 
ing! You are in truth your father's son. 

SHAKESPEARE 

[He has listened with an air of detach- 
ment.] 
What do my father and my mother now ? 

ANNE 

Your mother spins and sings old songs in 
the upper room. Out in the garden in the sun 
your father sits idle. His eyes stare, yet see 
nothing; for I passed before him now and 
though he looked, he saw me not. 

SHAKESPEARE 

[He opens door at right near front. r A 
glimpse of a garden is seen. He looks 
out.~\ 



64 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

I see him . . . His hands lie on his 
knees as if they rested. Their burdens are 
laid down; but the blurred eyes do not rest. 
There is no immortal hope before, nor no 
rich harvesting of joys behind. It is age's 
listlessness not its repose! 

ANNE 

[Who has not listened.] 
I talked with Dame Calverly yesterday when 
we were cheapening ribbons with the pedler 
from Henley. Her husband has sent their 
daughter to London to see the sights and their 
two sons to Oxford to study at the University. 
And mine have naught before them! 

SHAKESPEARE 

[With amused pity.] 
How ingeniously your brain weaves nets to 
trap your thoughts and torture them! Their 
ages mounted up upon each other count not to 
six years. There surely is yet time before such 
matters press ! 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 65 

ANNE 

[Violently.'] 
You are of all living men most maddening! 
You delay and postpone. You are forever 
playing at quoits and bowls — drinking and 
laughing with the village idlers. What have 
I or your children to hope for from you? 

SHAKESPEARE 

[Kindly, taking her chin in his hand and 
looking into her eyes.] 

Know you not that no one hour is like an- 
other, no year like that which follows it ? And 
so with men and women. I am not now what 
I shall be. Nor you — Nor you! Last even- 
ing when we walked we saw the bare, brown 
meadows by the river. You said that in Au- 
gust they would be yellow with grain. [He 
plucks a small branch from a rose vine grow- 
ing by the window.] Why are there no roses 
on this vine? 

ANNE 

You mock me. The time for roses is not 
yet. 



66 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

SHAKESPEARE 

[With sudden intensity.'] 
You do not ask the rose to bloom before its 
time. You do not rifle the mould of its seeds 
when it has been newly planted. You do not 
tear the seedlings up to see their roots whether 
they grow or not. How do you know what 
grows in me? What seeds sown by a hand 
more skilled than our poor wits can wot of 
may be ready to blossom in my soul? [He 
speaks gently.] If I may but have time — 
stillness — twilight and dark and dew of the 
sky — sunlight and noon: and be untouched 
as are the seeds you plant! 

ANNE 

[Blankly mystified.] 
Now, now, you seek to puzzle me — to lead 
me aside from what is urgent. [Angrily.] 
Most urgent do I say. 

SHAKESPEARE 

[Half aside.] 
She cannot understand. 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 67 

ANNE 

[She speaks with still quicker energy than 
at first, looking at the clock.'] 
Seven o'clock; and I must be back by noon 
for dinner! 

[She goes to the cupboard at right and 
opens it.] 
Here is cold pasty and oaten bread and 
cakes. Meagre fare for six! But so the chil- 
dren have enough I care not for myself. 

[Goes toward street door at back.] 
I go, Will, good-day! 

[Shakespeare is at front; he searches in 
his pocket and takes out a key unseen 
by Anne. He fingers it with an air of 
abstraction. Anne goes. In the door- 
way, she turns.] 
And Will — at five this morning the maid and 
I cleaned the upper rooms and freshly made 
all the beds. Fetch you the wood. Do not let 
the fire go out as yesterday. These May-days 
grow chill at night, and the children come! 



68 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

SHAKESPEARE 

You shall have a royal fire! 

ANNE 

Good-day. 

SHAKESPEARE 

[In a gay, half -singing voice. ] 
Heaven go with you! 

[Anne goes. He slips key in his pocket 
and goes out of door at left. He re- 
turns at once carrying a great armful 
of -firewood. He piles it with extreme 
care beside the fire-place.^ 
If I am perfect there can be no reproach! I 
know not why — but — anger which turns a 
man into a beast is even more loathsome in a 
woman. [Lightly. ,] Just or unjust we look 
to them for gentleness whether they feel it or 
not! Yet there's a kind of secret justice in 
our feeling. For they will ever tune us to 
their own key — if they but knew it! \_A log 
rolls from the pile. He replaces it.~\ Keep 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 69 

your place, Trifler! Know you not this is 
grave work and our greatest part? Since we 
belong to the Noble Order of Husbands we 
must please her, or the way roughens too 
much for further progress. 

[He stands at a little distance and looks 
with satisfaction at the pile of wood.] 
She will have a royal fire ! [He glances at the 
clock.] She will be now on the road to Shot- 
tery. All's still! This hour is very friendly. 
[He goes to the cloth hanging at right 
and drawing it aside unlocks with the 
key he still holds a small door in a cup- 
board set in the wall and from it takes 
a manuscript.] 

ANNE 

[Returning to the door but not looking in.] 
Will! 

[He starts and replaces the manuscript 
and closes the drawer hastily.] 
Will ! Forget not the fire ! Have you laid the 
fire? Have you piled the wood? Answer, I 
go. 



yo WILL SHAKESPEARE 

SHAKESPEARE 

[Absently -fingering the key.~\ 
I've piled it mountains high! 

ANNE 

'Tis well — for yesterday we froze. Good- 
day! This time I go. 

[Shakespeare goes to the door, looks 
after her. Then he re-opens the 
drawer. He takes out the manuscript 
and goes to table at front and sits, 
turning over the pages of the manu- 
script.] 

SHAKESPEARE 

Words are our only immortal things! Any 
fool can hammer the noblest marble statue in 
the world to dust, but the Gods themselves 
cannot destroy a word, once the same fool has 
said it! 

[The embers on the hearth flicker 
brightly and go out.'] 
I ever believe that these words of mine 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 71 

shall be spoken, so magically — as it were so 
enchantingly handled, — that their own value 
will be doubled. For singleness is nothing! 
They have a kind of life of their own on the 
page — but let them be spoken by resolute lips 
that marry each word as they touch it and all 
the world shall feast at the wedding banquet! 
Yet a playwright who passed through Strat- 
ford once — an old man — with a beard — he 
must have known! said to me that players 
were such fools that the bitterest moment one 
who writes for them can have, is to hear his 
own words stupidly spoken — in discord — out 
of tune and sense! Yet, there are those who 
command the speaking and moving magic. I 
could not myself! But that Godlike little boy 
I met in the wood four years ago; — our 
common tongue in his mouth became a novel 
and precious tune that fed the heart. Ah! — I 
cannot think upon him! My senses so sicken 
to see and hear him again! . . . Yet 
there still must be such ! \He turns the pages 
of the manuscript.'] All's been said and 



J2 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

played — from Athens to London! Yet the 
Heart of Things remains, for every man to 
find the answer to his own. 

\He writes. Village boys and girls pass 
in the street. They peer into the win- 
dow and seeing Shakespeare writing 
point and jeer at him, laughing with 
each other. He does not observe them. 
Bailly and Taverner, the constables, 
followed by two men, one middle- 
aged, spare and scholarly, the other of 
the same type, but younger, come to 
the door, look in, and knock loudly. ,] 

SHAKESPEARE 

[Starting from his chair. ,] 
O for a few hours of quietness ! [He goes 
to the door.] What is your wish ? Whom do 
you seek? 

[The men enter."] 



TAVERNER 

We seek your father, my young Feather- 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 73 

SHAKESPEARE 

.What commerce have you with my father? 

BAILLY 

That is our concern, and not for your ques- 
tioning. 

SHAKESPEARE 

[Speaking with courtesy. ,] 
Mayhap then, I can guess : somewhat touch- 
ing his estate or moneys brings you here. My 
father is old in truth lacks force to carry him- 
self — far less the weight of his affairs. Such I 
purpose to lay upon these shoulders, which 
have at least the virtue of strength! 

TAVERNER 

Ah, AH — I remember, I do well! You had 
ever a folly for turning fine phrases, even 
while you cut a calf's throat for your father, 
when he purveyed meat for the township. 



74 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

SHAKESPEARE 

[Springing toward him and catching him 
by the throat.~\ 
Liar! 

{Then shaking him by the shoulder as if 

he were a puppy, and trying to laugh.~\ 

Know you not whole armies of constables 

have been swept from the earth for less than 

that? 

TAVERNER 

Help! Help! Murder is being done! 
[Three pikemen with long pikes rush 
into the room from the street and 
stand close to Taverner. The two 
lawyers have shrunk into the corner 
and now come forward.] 
Now, now, Master Leatherby and Master 
Swales, do you see? Did I not rehearse how 
he flung me down in the wood four years ago 
— like a brigand, like an assassin, a murderer. 
It is just as I have always said — " Save a 
man from the gallows and he will cut your 
throat." 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 75 

MASTER LEATHERBY 

Most wisely said, indeed! 

SHAKESPEARE 

[Still trying to laugh.] 
Is this a comedy, or a mystery play? In- 
form my ignorance that I may split with 
laughter or be duly awed as the quality of the 
piece may demand. 

BAILLY 

The images suit! [To Tavemer.'] 
Enough of playing the Injured! [To 
Shakespeare.] Briefly, Master Will, we are 
come, not without regret in the hearts of 
such of his townsmen as know, perforce, of 
the matter, with a warrant for your Father's 
arrest and due restraint by the law. 



SHAKESPEARE 

[With mingled incredulity and anger. ] 
A mad world! 



76 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

BAILLY 

One of necessity, you should say. 

SHAKESPEARE 

We'll argue that. 

\He quickly crosses the room and as he 
passes the door to the garden he stum- 
bles against a chair, which closes the 
door. He locks it, putting one hand 
behind him, still facing the others, 
who do not see what he has done, and 
hides the key in his doublet.'] 
A pretty Game! As merry as New Cut, and 
as provoking as Primero! And these gentle- 
men, [to lawyers,] can each take a hand — 
and so all will pass the day pleasantly. The 
stakes to be our Golden Opinions of each 
other, the prize a general Amnesty — in which 
all share. Including of course, my father. 
Merely as the host of the gamesters, who 
make so free with his house — such as it is. 
Come, come, The Game! The Game! 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 77 

[He motions them to sit down around 

the table. He sits — leaning on the 

table, while the others stand surprised 

around it. To Master Leatherby.~\ 

How, most erudite sir, can that which has 

not strength to resist be restrained? Answer. 

[To the other Lawyer. ,] 
Keep a precise record, sir, of the play, for 
each point counts. 

BAILLY 

[Gravely. ,] 

The comedy of which you spoke, is of your 
own playing, now, Master Will. Where hides 
your father? 

SHAKESPEARE 

Before I answer, in all seriousness and 
kindness tell me, as briefly as may be, what 
legal warrant there is for thus seeking to 
bring my father into custody? 

TAVERNER 

Have I not foresight beyond the common? 
Prevising these questions I brought Master 



78 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

Leatherby to convince Young Featherhead of 
our procedure according to law. Your docu- 
ments, Master Leatherby. 

LEATHERBY 

[Producing a legal paper and reading in a 
'dry, monotonous voice.] "This indenture 
Witnesses that John Shakespeare of Strat- 
ford on Avon in the county of Warwick is 
indebted to sundry persons hereafter named 
for the sum of sundry pounds of current 
English money, hereafter set forth, and that 
he must doe, cause, knowledge and suffer to 
be done and knowledged, all and everie such 
further lawful and reasonable acte and actes 
thing and thinges, devise and devises assur- 
ances and conveyances whatsoever — " 

SHAKESPEARE 

Enough, enough — I believe anything you 
wish without further assurance! 

LEATHERBY 

[Looking at him over his spectacles and 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 79 

continuing in the same manner.'] "As also 
the saide John Shakespeare and his heirs and 
assignes, and everie of them, of and from. all 
former bargaynes, sales, leases, joyntures, 
dowers, wills, statutes, recognizances, writ- 
inges, obliagtory ffynes, entyles " — 



SHAKESPEARE 

[Moving chairs with some noise and con- 
fusion.'] You fatigue yourself, sir. Be 
seated. Refresh yourself, I entreat — and 
you, sir — and you — and you ! — 

[He opens a cupboard and brings out a 
tankard of ale, mugs and cakes. [ He 
pours out the ale and offers it to the 
lawyers and constables and pikemen. 
They accept it half-astonished and 
after drinking a little of it their stern 
expressions relax and they seat them- 
selves at the table, all but the pikemen 
who stand in the corner and drink and 
talk in whispers.] 



80 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

SHAKESPEARE 

Now, Worshipful Sirs — What sums are 
needed to free my father from this process? 
[To Leatherby who produces another long 
document.} No longer weary yourself, 
Noble Sir. [To Bailly.] You are no doubt 
acquainted with the facts? Spare Master 
Leatherby. His breath should be reserved 
for matters worthier its spending. 

[Leatherby looks pompously gratified.'] 

BAILLY 

[Taking a slip of paper from his pocket 
and reading.] For the Asbies Estate. For 
interest on the mortgage held by John Lam- 
bert, twenty pounds ; to John Brown of Strat- 
ford for money loaned, ten pounds; to the 
Town of Stratford for debts for the Strat- 
ford Theatre, forty pounds. To sundry 
other private persons whose names I need 
not now set forth, forty pounds. In all one 
hundred and ten pounds. [After a pause and 
looking with sympathy at Shakespeare.] You 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 81 

understand, Master Will, that his fellow 
townsmen hold your father in respect and 
high consideration, but they have waited 
many years and all suffer. I regret both for 
him and yourself that such troubles should 
be. 

SHAKESPEARE 

I thank you. There is no fence for ill for- 
tune. [While Bailly has spoken, he has 
carefully noted each item on a slip of paper.] 
Were all this paid anon, he would go free? 

ALL 

[With the exception of Taverner.~\ Yes ! Yes ! 

TAVERNER 

[Laughing jeeringly.'] Anon? Two 
anons and a by-and-by, makes a while and a 
half! 

[The others try to silence him.~\ Anon! 
It's now that's needful. Anon, he asks? 
Shameful asking should have shameful nay! 



82 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

SHAKESPEARE 

[Without appearing to notice him.] If 
full payment could be assured for all public 
and private debt within a reasonable time, 
would such time be granted by the law? 
[To Master Leath&rby.'] Vouchsafe your 
valued judgment, Gracious Sir. 

LEATHERBY 

{Who has been enjoying the ale.~\ A rea- 
sonable time — Yes — Yes — There should be 
no justice without mercy. 

SHAKESPEARE 

I pledge myself to pay these sums within 
two years from this date and in the interval 
to pay such interest as may be deemed suffi- 
cient both by the town and those private per- 
sons who have been at loss. 

TAVERNER 

He promises like a Lover to his Maid! 
What security can he give? I ask that of 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 83 

you all? Seven hands in the dish here. 
Two in the purse and that an empty one, and 
an Idler at the fore. Ha, ha! They that 
have not worked in heat must linger in frost ! 
Ha, ha! 

[Shakespeare appears as if he had not 
heard Taverner.] 

BAILLY 

[Losing his temper."] Silence — Flea! 
[To Shakespeare.] We know your love of 
uprightness of dealing; that you are gentle 
and honest, of an open, free and frank dis- 
position; but that some security should be as- 
sured is a necessity that you must under- 
stand. [To Leatherby.] Kindly explain 
this point to Master Will, sir. 

[Leatherby produces from his bag an- 

other document. Shakespeare hastily 

fills his mug with ale.] 

SHAKESPEARE 

I neglect your comfort. No proof is nec- 
essary. Your honored word suffices. 



84 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

[Leatherby bows affably and drinks. 
Shakespeare sits motionless with an 
expression of anxious thought. 'All 
wait silently."] 

BAILLY 

If due security could be given I doubt not 
that your proposal would be acceptable to the 
town and the private persons (touching mem- 
orandum) herein set forth. 

SHAKESPEARE 

[Showing his despair.] Security? Alas! 
I have none. 

LEATHERBY 

[Having finished all the ale on the table.] 
Then the law must proceed. What we came 
for should be done. [He stands and the con- 
stables also rise.] Take us to your father. 

SHAKESPEARE 

{Passionately and springing from his 
chair and standing with his back to 
the garden door.] 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 85 

You may not see him! 

[The constables, lawyers, and pikemen 
rush tozvard hint.] 

LEATHERBY 

"May not" is said not to the law. 

BAILLY 

He hides in the garden! Out of our path! 
You presume on our patience. 

[He attempts to push Shakespeare 
aside.'] 

SHAKESPEARE 

S'death! I'll presume yet farther before 
you pass this door. 

[They struggle.] 
The Voice of Shakespeare's Father (without) 
[He knocks at the door to the garden.] 
Will! Willi What means this turmoil? 
Who is within? Open! — [A silence.] 

SHAKESPEARE 

Peace, Father! A bout of wrestling for 



86 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

pleasantry with some of the neighbors. 'Tis 
over. Go you to the pleached alley at the 
garden end. They go! 

THE VOICE 

'Tis well — I go to the pleached alley. But 
more stillness were meeter for the honor of 
my house. 

[All stand silent and surprised.'] 

SHAKESPEARE 

[With passion.] Is it justice or reason to 
put a man in gaol who is too feeble to stir 
abroad? When the heart acheth the whole 
body is aworse and my father is weighted by 
lassitude. A helplessness that is inert be- 
cause there is beneath it no stir of hope. I 
know from words and signs of whose mean- 
ing I have discernment that he has come not 
into church for a year for fear of process for 
debt. All's at an end for him. Youth, man- 
hood and the mighty tide of ambition that 
sweeps the middle years. Yet pride still lives 



WILL SHAKESPEARE Sy 

in him. Like all wounded and feeble things 
the sorer to the touch because it has been hurt 
already. Wound it not still more. Strike it not 
now so that it die in agony. In his prosperity 
did he not prosper all? Was it not he who 
fed the poor and starving when the plague 
ravaged the town? Was it not he who built 
a theatre for Stratford that we might have 
some surprise of laughter, some strangeness 
of fancy, some grace shaped with Art to turn 
the stones of our daily lives to bread if but 
for an hour's space? For which of these 
things do you prison him? Who has ever 
had thought to reward him for these gifts? 
Should not there be some generous handling 
of him who was generous to all? 

[He pauses. The men are visibly af- 
fected.] 
Suppose an if you do this thing — Suppose 
you drag this sick and bleeding soul to gaol 
what gain have you? He shall have no more 
gold to pay you then than now, and you have 
stained the records of the town with dark in- 



88 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

gratitude that no time to come can wash 
white. [He pauses again.'] 

BAILLY 

These be true words. 

[The others assent silently, all but Tav- 
erner.] 

SHAKESPEARE 

And I will pay all. Set this security- 
aside. Give me but two years' grace and if 
Fate send not some hooded calamity across 
my path to strike me before I can see its face, 
whether it portend evil or good, nothing in 
life shall stay my triumph. 

[He covers his eyes with his hand and 
then removes it looking fixedly for- 
ward and slightly upward.] 

BAILLY 

[With emotion.] Friends, I am for giv- 
ing him his way. 

LEATHERBY 

[Throwing off his dry manner."] 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 89 

Am I a simpleton that I so trust this youth, 
and without reason? 

TAVERNER 

[Despairingly. ] The twist of his tongue 
turns their stiff brains on their very hinges 
and oils them so they do not even creak! 

SHAKESPEARE 

[With impetuous sweetness."} Give me 
your trusts, Gentles all. Let me wrap them 
in my heart — fulfill them with its impulse and 
its strength and when the fruit of my travail 
lies in your hands you will be justified. Do 
you consent? 

LEATHERBY 

[Slowly and hesitatingly. ~\ There is no 
legal warrant for such exception to the law. 

SHAKESPEARE 

Do you refuse? 

LEATHERBY 

We cannot. 



po WILL SHAKESPEARE 

SHAKESPEARE 

Then let all lie in the secret kindness of 
your hearts and let me prove my words. 

BAILLY 

I will lay all before the town council and 
in all truth I do believe I will prevail. 

SHAKESPEARE 

May the goodness that is Divine refresh 
your hearts for this sweet faith. Farewell 
good friends. 

[They go. He shows them to the door 
and then walks swiftly to the front.~\ 
I should be overwhelmed at what the years — 
their movement and their mystery — wrap 
around my life, but that I have within assur- 
ance of strength to match their force, magic 
for their mystery, freedom beyond bonds. 
These bonds I seek not to break. I scarce 
know how they came. Call it human pity — 
the higher side of that same weakness that 
wronged another life — or, on the other hand, 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 91 

clutching selfishness that assaulted a man's 
defenseless side. Man made for woman — 
woman made for man. The mystery of op- 
posites — distant and strange, yet dragging 
into gripping closeness diverse lives. Call it 
fate, blindness, sex, anything but Love. But 
when we stood before the altar and the Priest 
asked pledges, did I not shout them? Let be 
then. It is as it should be. It cannot be 
otherwise. See — there am I in the steel- 
bound cage and for my sin I acquiesce. And 
then — a brush of heavenly wings, an opening 
of the heart, all unforeseen — and we are as 
Gods, fathering unfledged souls, that we who 
are aware, entertain as angels, kneeling at 
their feet, bending our ears to catch some 
lisping of the wisdom and the glory they have 
newly left. O I should moan and shrink 
when thought of these sweet young lives that 
Heaven has given me holds the courts of my 
brain, were it not that in even balance with 
their crushing weight is my will to draw 
forth this life's richest juices for them as I 



92 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

tread its press. To pour out for them wine, 
distilled from every tree of Knowledge and 
Life, whose fruit I pluck and eat because all 
is mine, as I fare on the world's highway. 
My father and my mother . . . Let me 
compass peace not in their ken for them. 
And for my wife — my wife — my wife — Is 
she then indeed my wife? What the hawk 
does not hold beneath her iron claw may the 
Eagle ranging far bring to her bleak holding 
in the rock? My vision is at fault. There 
is an emptiness at my heart. I may not see 
farther. Nor would I. There is balm and 
calming in the veil of mist that floats at dawn 
and lifts at last to show a novel splendour. 

[He uncovers his manuscript and looks 
at it."] 
I thought it would be long to finish this but 
see how it completes itself ! There lacks here 
but little. Speed, speed! And my apple of 
Hesperides may ripen by noon! 

[He writes zvith an expression of joyous 
content on his face. John Richard- 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 93 

son and Foulke Sandells pass the win- 
dow at right and after looking in, rap 
gently at the door which is slightly 
ajar. Shakespeare continues absorbed 
in his writing. They push open the 
door and enter stealthily. They look 
at each other and then sit in two chairs 
at left and watch Shakespeare silently 
for a moment, shaking their heads. 
They look older and are dressed in 
black clothes as if for a visit of cere- 
mony. They cough and shift their 
chairs somewhat noisily. Shakespeare 
looks up suddenly and sees them.] 



SHAKESPEARE 

[Gaily.] Richardson and Sandells, my 
ancient Ravens! What does this visit omen? 
Why this sombre plumage of a morning? Is 
it a tithe meeting? Or a funeral? Is Dame 
Fernlow's cat dead? Or Dame Hathaway's 
black cow? Unfold! 



94 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

RICHARDSON 

[With injured dignity.'] 
We bear a message to you from Dame 
Hathaway. 

SANDELLS 

With vast unwillingness. 

SHAKESPEARE 

[With a quick frown but speaking with 
good humor.'] A weighty message — Since 
two must carry it. What's wrong with my 
wife's mother? 

RICHARDSON 

There's nothing wrong with her. The 
trouble is with you, young Featherhead. 

SHAKESPEARE 

[Turns and faces the two men looking 

at them piercingly. They both Hinch 

and look uneasy.] 

What is the nature of my trouble? Give it 

a name, I beg. I've read of a man who look- 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 93 

ing up to the sky and seeing a comet feared 
it, until he heard that it had a name, when he 
concluded it must be harmless and went into 
his house again, content! 

RICHARDSON 

You must give us, Sandells and me, credit 
for judgment — wisdom — 

SANDELLS 

Tact. 

SHAKESPEARE 

O enormous! 

RICHARDSON 

[Slowly and impressively.'] Only duty — 
the sacred obligation of old friendship brings 
us here. 

SHAKESPEARE 

[Looking at the clock and speaking in the 
same manner.'] 
Only Duty — the sacred obligation of old prom- 
ises made to all the Powers that be, force me 



96 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

to tell you that I, (speaks very rapidly) have 
only two minutes to listen to you. 

[He stands and moves a step or two 
toward the two men.] 

SANDELLS 

[With uneasiness. ] Tell him, Richard- 
son. I'll not face Dame Hathaway with her 
words unsaid. 

RICHARDSON 

Dame Hathaway is dissatisfied with your 
way of life. [Shakespeare looks astonished.] 
It is four years since you married her daugh- 
ter and during that time you have idled, 
lounged, drunk sack with your rude wildrakes 
and Anne has kept the house and her mother 
has paid the bills. You have done no work — 

SHAKESPEARE 

O pardon me! 

RICHARDSON 

Wherefore ? 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 97 

SHAKESPEARE 

I have worked. 

RICHARDSON 

And in what fashion? 

SHAKESPEARE 

I have — written. 

RICHARDSON AND SANDELLS 

[Laughing sneeringly.~\ Pray what have 
you written? 

SHAKESPEARE 

[Who has been good-humored and careless 
until this moment becomes suddenly 
grave and reserved.'] 
Words. 

RICHARDSON 

[Again laughing jeeringly.] Words! — 
words! And that he calls work! Well 
Dame Hathaway says there's to be no more 



98 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

of these " words." You must go to work 
with your hands, like any other honest man, 
or Anne's Mother's money shall keep you no 
more — and — ■ 

SHAKESPEARE 

[Going to the two men with a swift, irre- 
sistible movement, takes them by the 
shoulders, and quickly, but gently, 
pushes them to the door and out into 
the street, speaking as he does so, with 
breaks and pauses as he pushes them.~\ 
When the Phoenix was consumed — even to 
ashes — in his own nest — he flew away — up, 
up, up — into the burning blue of the sky, with 
new feathers. Such glorious ones! Did 
you ever read the story? No? Go home 
then and read it! 

[The two men stumble over the thresh- 
old and out into the street and disap- 
pear hastily, looking timidly over their 
, shoulders as if to see whether Shake- 
speare follows or not, Shakespeare 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 99 

looks after them, laughing uncontrol- 
lably. He waves his hand to them 
with gaiety and calls.] 

SHAKESPEARE 

Come again anon, — to-morrow — to dine! 

We shall have venison for you and tripe and 

onions and sack! 

{He writes again as before. Music of 
violins, -flutes, haut-boys and horns is 
heard down the village street and the 
shouting of boys and girls. People 
come to the doors and windows of the 
houses opposite and some come out on 
the street.'] 

a boy's voice 
Hallo! Hallo! [A boy enters street 
skipping and running. ~] Way! Room! 
Make way! The Players! The London 
Players from Kenilworth! 

[Boys and girls follow him, laughing, 
skipping and clapping their hands; 



ioo WILL SHAKESPEARE 

then a group of villagers, then musi- 
cians playing, followed by a group of 
players. They are all men and boys 
and look shabby, travel-stained and 
tired. At Shakespeare's door, which 
stands open, they stop and the leader, 
a middle-aged man, knocks. Shake- 
speare has heard nothing and still 
writes. The knock is repeated more 
loudly, ,] 

SHAKESPEARE 

[Starting.] — who knocks? 

FIRST PLAYER 

Gentle, sir, is this mayhap an inn, where 
we may refresh ourselves? We are most 
weary — having walked this morning from 
Kenilworth where we played yesterday for 
my lords Leicester and Essex. 

[The other players are grouped about 
the door behind the -first player. The 
musicians and villagers stand behind 
them in the street.] 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 101 

SHAKESPEARE 

[Going joyously to the door.'] Enter 
friends! All! For you this is an Inn — and 
for refreshment! — Why, what there is, is 
yours ! 

PETER DUMPSER 

[A Village Boy] 
This is no Inn. 'Tis Will Shakespeare's 
own house! 

[The players hesitate."] 

SHAKESPEARE 

[To boy.] That's enough from you, sir. 
Silence or you shall have no cakes! — Too 
truthful Peter Dumpser! [To Players.] I 
said it was an Inn for you. I entreat you — 
Brothers — Pass not my door without enter- 
ing! 

[The players and musicians yield and 
enter. The villagers hang back and, 
after shaking their heads and demur- 
ring, all go with the exception of 



io2 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

Peter Dumpser and one villager who 
lingers in the street."] 

SHAKESPEARE 

Rest — rest. Here are seats for all. 

[He pulls about the chairs and settles. 
'All sit in background. Shakespeare 
opens doors of cupboards.] 
All's cold, alas! — But here's game-pie and 
oaten bread and sack and cheese. 

[He empties the cupboards and puts 
dishes and beer mugs and jugs on the 
table and begins to serve the Players. 
All take food and eat and drink. 
Shakespeare gives a double portion to 
Peter Dumpser.] 

FIRST PLAYER 

But, sir, there is no seat for you — and all 
the pie is gone! 

SHAKESPEARE 

When you eat I also am fed! [He sits on 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 103 

the edge of the table.] What did you play 
yesterday for my Lord of Leicester? 

FIRST PLAYER 

A Fairy Masque. 

SHAKESPEARE 

[With eager interest.'] And by whom 
written ? 

FIRST PLAYER 

By one Campion. You know his plays? 

SHAKESPEARE 

Alas ! I am till now ignorant of his name. 

FIRST PLAYER 

Tis a pleasing pastoral and suits in this 
May time in the open air, with songs com- 
posed by one of our company here. 
[Points to a young musician.] 

SHAKESPEARE 

[Goes to him and shakes his hand.] I 



104 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

must hear these songs! Your eyes are 
bright with Love-light. A nightingale, I'll 
swear to it ! 

MUSICIAN 

I thank you. A Hedge Robin, say rather! 
[Enter, riding by the village street, 
Heminge and Greene. They dis- 
mount before Shakespeare's house. 
A villager who has lingered in the 
street holds the bridles of their horses, 
while they enter the door and then 
leads their horses away. They are 
richly dressed in courtier's costumes 
of brilliant satin.] 



SHAKESPEARE 

Heminge and Greene! Whether the sub- 
stance of a dream or flesh and blood, welcome 
to Stratford again. 

HEMINGE 

We pass never your Father's door, Will, 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 105 

without a sight of you, but we thought not to 
find all our company of the same mind! 

SHAKESPEARE 

[Embracing him.'] Ah, Heminge. Your 
voice! No spirit speaks so soundly. [He 
embraces Greene.] Welcome, old friend. 
[Some of the other Players stand and one 
brings some chairs near front.] 

SHAKESPEARE 

[To Players.] My thanks for this cour- 
tesy. You were the gracious forerunners of 
old sweetness renewed. These are my fel- 
low-townsmen. [Drawing close to Heminge 
and Greene.] Amazing transformation! 
You left Stratford with empty pockets, 
meanly clad, and you come back ruffling it in 
glaring satin suits, on horses like Lords, and 
I'll swear, with full purses! 

GREENE 

[Laughing.] There be many who have 



106 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

gone to London who can tell the same pretty 
tale. 

SHAKESPEARE 

[Touching his ruff and costume.'] On my 
soul, a ruff of lace like a Lady's. A chain 
and jewel of amethyst shaped heart-wise 
graven with tender emblems; a heart with a 
winged cupid shooting; his arrow guided by 
a Venus kneeling; a flower-broidered doub- 
let; Love-Lies-Bleeding with Forget-Me- 
Nots! [To Heminge.] And you — his 
match in all these dazzlements! How comes 
this? 

HEMINGE 

Fortune's caprice turns even the way of a 
poor playwright! Blind like Love! 

SHAKESPEARE 

[With eager inter est. ~\ Is it even so? 
What plays please in London now? 

GREENE 

O, anything of the Peep-show order from 
a Bear-garden to a Dog-fight! 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 107 

SHAKESPEARE 

[With disappointment.'] No higher soar- 
ing? 

HEMINGE 

Fairy-Masques and spectacles, (so there are 
satyrs who scramble to make the ground- 
lings laugh, with songs and music cunningly 
interspersed) are borne with some show of 
patience. We played in one such yesterday 
at my Lord Leicester's at Kenilworth. We 
play it again in London when June opens. 

SHAKESPEARE 

Ah! If I might but see you then! 

HEMINGE 

You affect the stage? 

SHAKESPEARE 

I lack at this time opportunity to affect 
anything — except as a kind of curtain-raiser, 
beer and skittles. But — I have my own mo- 
ments ! 



108 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

HEMINGE 

And that way lies salvation! 

GREENE 

You would mayhap like to join our fra- 
ternity ? 

SHAKESPEARE 

My imagination is ensnared by your be- 
witching show of this our puzzling world; 
for through the noble or jesting words you 
so pointedly speak and through the mum- 
mery of your action I read a kind of free 
translation of the wonderful pageantry of 
Life that illuminates it — for me! For me. 

GREENE 

You have played yourself? 

SHAKESPEARE 

Most indifferently in our Village shows. 

HEMINGE 

O, we all had a beginning! Others must 
judge of your talent. 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 109 

SHAKESPEARE 

I am my own kindest critic. 

HEMINGE 

Then from your own showing they must 
rate you too low for even your modesty. 

SHAKESPEARE 

Impossible! For I rank myself, and were 
I easily capsized I should be completely so by 
my own pleasure in what I do — when I do it 
well. 

HEMINGE 

Then you do somewhat and well — and 
what may it be? 

SHAKESPEARE 

I am of your craft. 

GREENE 

You too! In the circles in which I re- 
volve no one does anything else. But is 



no WILL SHAKESPEARE 

there then no more novel impulse from this 
fresh plenitude of solitary nature that sur- 
rounds you than to take to the too-trodden 
highway of the Playwright? No secret by- 
path that you alone frequent where you may 
have raptures of discovery for yourself 
alone ? 

SHAKESPEARE 

Unshared pleasure grows stale. 

HEMINGE 

But not so stale as fruit thrown on the 
market and neither bought nor eaten! I 
have plays on my shelf that in imagination I 
saw the public swallowing like manna from 
Heaven, when, in fact, they spewed them 
forth and there remained for me but to 
gather up the fragments! 

SHAKESPEARE 

Even if it bloom not for me, let me live 
always in the perfume of the Rose! I love 
the theatre! Its air would be sweet to me 



WILL SHAKESPEARE in 

even if the flowers in its gardens were not 
of my planting. 

HEMINGE 

Show us of your imaginings — 



GREENE 

We entreat you. 

SHAKESPEARE 

Do you wish me to fright away the shy 
Angel of my Thought before I have mas- 
tered his whisperings? I thought not to un- 
lock the gate to my garden of unfading 
flowers until they bloomed as sturdily on 
their stems as they do in my own mind — but 
when Opportunity knocks so graciously only 
Folly would keep it closed. 

[He uncovers the Mss. and hands it to 

Heminge."] 

A Fairy Masque such as you have played 

even now. A dream I dreamed in the 

Forest here on a night in Midsummer. 



ii2 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

[Heminge turns the pages and reads 
while Greene looks over his shoul- 
der.] 

HEMINGE 

[Indicating a line.] Excellent fantasy! 
[They read on.] 

GREENE 

Brave notions! 

HEMINGE 

A prospering wit! 

GREENE 

A Fairy Masque indeed — but not such as 
we have been playing! Ours was fustian, 
this cloth of gold, if all the stuff be of this 
weaving. 

HEMINGE 

[Who has continued to read and turn the 
pages.] 
Strange witchery! These fairies live — ■ 
These men and women are the shadows ! 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 113 

SHAKESPEARE 

In the Fairy World 'tis so. 

GREENE 

Never so before, yet true! 

SHAKESPEARE 

Should not art, like truth, be inevitable? 
A great painter draws an arm. Never so 
drawn before. Yet all the world cries out — 
"An arm should be like that! It could not 
be otherwise. ,, 

HEMINGE 

The truth from the mouth of a babe! 

GREENE 

[To Heminge.] Burbage should see this. 

HEMINGE 

{Turning the pages of the Mss. to the 
end.~\ 
This is not all ? It will be long to complete it ? 



114 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

SHAKESPEARE 

A few hours of quietness! The end — and 
one might say a glorification of the whole! 
Or — I might lay this phantasy aside. I have 
other plays that might please more. 

HEMINGE 

Come with me to London — show this play 
to Burbage, our manager. There is hunger, 
know you, in the public stomach — though my 
dishes lack seasoning to their zest! Come 
with us! 

SHAKESPEARE 

[With sudden reserve.} I know not if that 
may be. 

HEMINGE 

A prudent youth. A vision of failure out- 
weighs the chances of glory! 

SHAKESPEARE 

Not so. [To Greene.] My desires match 
your words and my impulses rush to marry 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 115 

them. My hopes blossom in the sun of your 
gracious encouraging. How may I requite 
it? 

[Enter Pet&r Dumpser with ale and 
cakes.] 

PETER DUMPSER 

[To Shakespeare.] There's ale for you, 
Will Shakespeare, for all have drunk save 
you. 

SHAKESPEARE 

You come at a fortunate moment, truthful 
Peter, a fresh spring where our own well runs 
dry! 

[He refills the glasses of the players.] 



HEMINGE 

A glass to your London journey and good 
luck at its end ! 

ALL 

The London journey! 



n6 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

[All drink laughing and applauding and 
clinking their glasses. The door to the 
street at back in the centre is suddenly 
pushed open and Anne enters. Her 
face is pale and rigid with excitement 
and anger. She passes swiftly be- 
tween the seated players on either side 
of the door, and goes to front."] 

ANNE 

An end to this. This is my home and this 
my husband. My home not for defilement by 
pot house carousals. My husband not the 
comrade of vagabonds. Out — Out all! 

[The players all rise and stand in con- 
fused astonishment. Heminge and 
Greene look at Anne with cold curios- 
ity. ,] 

SHAKESPEARE 

[Springing to Anne, and laying his hand 
on her arm.~\ Mad — and more blind than 
mad! Unsay your words, Anne, there's 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 117 

more at stake than your short vision sees! 
[To players.'] Gentlemen — my friends — a 
wild mistake! Some lack of understanding 
in our village-folk, pardonable to your larger 
experience, is untowardly shared by my — most 
honoured wife. [To players, but more espe- 
cially to Heminge and Greene.] She knows 
not who you are! [To Anne, with pleading 
intensity.] Speak again, with gentleness. 
Salve the hurt your wild words cause these 
generous, kindly folk. [To players.] All's 
understood my friends. Go not! Be seated, 
that our pretty comedy of the arts may go 
on! 

[The players who have begun to move 

toward the door yield to his urgency 

and again sit.] 

ANNE 

[With increased anger.] An impudence, — • 
a cowardice I scarce believe even though my 
eyes see it? Silly souls! They know they 
trespass in an honoured house, yet they sit 



n8 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

still and say nothing! [To Shakespeare."] Is 
it not enough that we are ruined by your 
father's theatre-building madness here in 
Stratford, that you let your own home be 
fouled with this draggled flock of the high 
road? Are you sheep-blooded also that you 
leave me to play the watch-dog and drive 
them out upon it again ? 

[The players rise again, this time indig- 
nantly, and look anxiously at Shake- 
speare as if expecting him to resent 
r Anne's words. He moves to a chair 
near the table in the foreground and 
sits looking forward with an air of 
complete detachment. The players 
and musicians confer an instant si- 
lently and go out of the door, [As they 
cross the threshold Shakespeare springs 
from his seat and goes to them smiling 
radiantly.'] 

SHAKESPEARE 

[Grasping the hands of Heminge and 
Greene and some of the others.] 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 119 

A brief farewell! Life leads us through 
some lying hours, friends, yet truth is lusty! 
The canker-worm gnaws, but the bud still 
burns into the rose. Fruition redeems! 

[Exeunt players and Peter Dumpser, 
whose head Shake t speare\ caresses as 
he passes him.'] 

SHAKESPEARE 

[Going to Anne and speaking kindly.] 
Be my friend, Anne, as I am yours. There 
is no Beauty else. 

ANNE 

[Turning angrily from him, and -flinging 
open the cupboard door.] 
My children's food taken from their 
mouths and given to dogs ! [She turns to the 
•fire-place and sees the grey ashes.] No fire — 
a chilled house. [She throws some kindlings 
and logs on the ashes and the fire blazes. She 
turns fiercely to Shakespeare.] His children's 
lives forgotten in his wanton pleasure ! 



l2o WILL SHAKESPEARE 

SHAKESPEARE 

[Going to her again and attempting to 
take her hand.] 
Poor stormy Petrel ! Is it quite lost the old 
magic that once stilled the storms which drive 
your soul so wildly ? Listen, I will tell you all 
my secret. I feared to start fair hopes in your 
breast until there were some outward showing 
that your reason would entertain. [He takes 
his play from the table.] 

See, — Here is opportunity, freedom, prosper- 
ity for you and for our beloved. Know you 
not that the good will of the gentle, generous 
folk you have so unworthily driven forth is 
our safest investiture for our happy fortune? 
[He gives the play to Anne. She looks 
at it and recoils.] 

ANNE 

A play ? On this, then, you have spent your 
strength and the precious days and months 
that might have been given to honest work? 
Is it not enough that the hard grip of poverty 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 121 

holds us, for that your father wasted his sub- 
stance for a theatre, that you too should play 
with the dangerous flame? To the fire let all 
theatre-scribblings go and burn there end- 
lessly and no more torment us ! 

[She flings the manuscript into the Are 
where it biases for an instant. ] 

SHAKESPEARE 

\_Snatching the manuscript from the fire.~\ 
You know not what you do. You are burn- 
ing up my life! 

\He stands at a distance from Anne 
holding the charred manuscript, trem- 
bling and pale, looking at her wildly. ~\ 
Cruel woman ! Ignorance — Inexperience ! 
The instincts raging, but the heart unborn. 
No love, no hope for me in you ! 

ANNE 

[With frenzy.] O God! Have you not 
caused me anguish that suffices? Idler, — rob- 
ber of your children's living, — unnatural 



122 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

dreamer of false dreams! Go — let me not 
see you more. Or, if you will stay there like 
a block that understands not your own sin. 
I will go while my children wait without in 
the garden and wander the streets till I am 
free from your presence that so maddens me. 
[She opens the closed door and rushes 
out into the now empty street and dis- 
appears.'} 

SHAKESPEARE 

[With intense bitterness.} Give greatness, 
— shall not greatness be returned? The bards 
and books have written it, — but O how many 
lies go masqueing through Time, for hun- 
gry souls to starve and die upon! Where 
have I so failed, that set perfection as my 
mark? We must look to the larger tribunal 
when the judge of the Hearthstone goes blind. 
But, when the spring grows bitter, how may 
the waters of life be sweet? O Life, me- 
thought you were my friend! Wherefore 
did'st trap me in this iron web? What Devil- 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 123 

spider lurking at its edge waits to end my 
struggles with its sting? Yet out beyond my 
web there lies the world. So mighty in allure- 
ment, so vast in opportunity. [He stretches 
out his arms.'] I have a lust for life and love! 
What do I see here? What do I hear? No 
Beauty— no Peace — nor no Progressing. There 
is no longer foothold for me here in mine own 
place. For their enriching I must leave my 
father, my mother, and those sweet lives that 
taught me through my own heart what God's 
love for men must be. It may be that the same 
Providence that pushes the fledglings from 
their nest now flings me forth from mine. I 
have watched young birds newly fallen again 
and yet again to earth. Some snatch of my 
own life caught me from sight of what befel 
the helpless, pitiable, soft things. Never saw 
I one fly to safety! Yet before the summer 
passed, the trees were sweet with song from 
the young thrushes' throats. Am I — a man 
— less master of my fate than they? 

"Come with us," the players said. There 



i2 4 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

was a large music in the words. " To Lon- 
don." A place that breeds such miracles of 
finished loveliness as was that prince-boy of 
the forest, must be a soil where lives can 
grow. Where beats now that gallant young 
heart ? I'll seek him out ! God makes a patch 
of blue for us in every sky, — some star, how- 
ever dim, the night. . 

[He goes to the cupboard and takes out 
several manuscripts which he puts with 
the charred one into a canvas hunting 
bag hanging on the wall. He empties a 
wallet at his side on the table. A few 
coins drop out. He takes one and re- 
places it in the wallet.] 
This will buy food. [He leaves the others on 
the table.] I have often walked thirty miles 
for pleasure, why not thrice thirty for my 
life? 

[He slings his gun and hunting-bag over 
his shoulder. He goes to the table and 
writes.] 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 125 

SHAKESPEARE 

[Writing.'] My father and my mother. 
— Opportunity to refill our too empty purse 
takes me to-day to London. There is needful 
haste so that I may not now say more, but at 
the first stage of my journey I will write all 
that your own minds may ask. Give me your 
trusts and your good patience until my letter 
come. Your great hearts will greatly wait. 
Will. 

[He continues to write on another 
paper.] 
Anne : You have bid me go. You wish free- 
dom from the sight of me. True it is with 
some, that what the eye seeth not the heart 
rueth not. So I go. What I win from for- 
tune shall be yours with but a moiety for my 
sustaining. Though you know it not, to one 
goal, — Peace and Prosperity, — from our too 
separate points we look. The lines converge. 
When time brings them so close that you 



126 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

know our vision is the same, though differing 
in degree, I will come again. 
Will. 

[He leaves the letters on the table and 
taking his cap and gun goes to the 
door.~\ 

a child's voice 
[From without the garden door."] 
Father! Sweet father! Let me in. 



ANOTHER CHILD'S VOICE 

Let me come to you father! 



SHAKESPEARE 

[With fierce anguish.~\ God blast in hell 
the fiend that sends those voices to knock at 
my heart to weaken its resolution — all's dark 
again! My way as black as night — and I — 
blind. Yet, if I stay, life perishes in blank- 
ness like my father's. 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 127 

THE CHILDREN'S VOICES 

[Without. ] Father! Father! 
[Shakespeare goes wildly toward the 
voices, then turning away he covers 
his ears with his hands and rushes 
from the house to the street.] 

CURTAIN 



ACT II 

SCENE II 

Scene]: [Night. In the background 
large meadow-land, very slightly rolling, with 
sleeping sheep guarded by sheep-dogs who 
also sleep. A still stream lighted by moon- 
light winds across the meadows at a distance 
in the background. At left, near the back, 
are the imposing gates of a private park and 
behind them, at a distance, is seen the shad- 
owy outline of a Castle or Manor House with 
dim lights shining in some of its windows. 
The sky is full of stars and the moonlight 
lights everything. At the right near the 
back an old shepherd in a cloak and broad hat 
watches the sheep, leaning on his staff. 
There is a group of trees behind the shepherd 
but far enough away for his -figure, turned 

away from the audience, to be clearly out- 

138 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 129 

lined against the moonlit plain. Enter from 
right Shakespeare, walking wearily. ] 

SHAKESPEARE 

Can lead be quicksilver, or night be day! 
How then can all this dead weight in my 

heart 
Be turned again to light and life and song? 
[He stops and looks toward the mead- 

owsJ] 
This is a sweet land! Full of rest and peace; 
With grassy meads and waters clear as 

Heaven. 
I'll lie among those quiet lambs and sleep, 
And let the Master-Shepherd lead my soul 
Up to the stars for Light. 

[He goes a few steps further and sees 

the shepherd who has been hidden 

from him by the group of trees. ] 

Ev'n here a taint! 
A shepherd of this earth to reckon with. 
Hola, my friend! 

THE SHEPHERD 

[Startled.] Who comes? He has a gun, 



i 3 o WILL SHAKESPEARE 

A poacher — or a murderous highwayman. 
What do you, trespasser on private land? 
Off, or I'll set my dogs on you, or call 
The castle guard! 

SHAKESPEARE 

[Laughing. ] Let your dogs sleep! 

[He takes off his gun and holds it out 
to the shepherd."] 

Take this, 
It is uncharged. I do not come to poach, 
And as for robbery — Truth, I lack force 
For even that — if such were my intent! 
My ankles bend, my knees are turned to 

straw. 
I have walked more than thirty miles to-day. 
Let me lie there among your sleeping sheep, 
Share their mute rest and steal away at dawn, 
And be to you a half-forgotten shade 
Of night. Do you consent? 

THE SHEPHERD 

[Coming nearer and peering into his face.] 

A wayfarer, 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 131 

And young! 

[He takes his gun and examines it.] 

Uncharged. You are an honest man. 
It is not strange you seemed an evil one. 
A month ago, upon a night like this, 
A night of stars, — a man, armed, ev'n as you, 
Asked me his way, — and yonder in the copse 
A flight-shoot from the brays, that very night, 
He killed a pedlar for his gold. At dawn 
I found the body bleeding in the fern. 
They caught the killer and this very hour 
He's swinging at the cross-roads, not far 

hence. 
On quiet nights, like this — when a breeze 

blows 
This way, you hear the clanking of the chains, 
Ay, Ay, quite clear! 

[In the group of trees chains clank.] 

SHAKESPEARE 

[Shuddering.] 

Does murder haunt that copse? 
I thought to hear of chanting nightingales. 



1 32 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

THE SHEPHERD 

Nightingales, say you? Ay, there's plenty 

there 
But they all sing in June. Whence come 

you, Sir? 
And whither go? 

SHAKESPEARE 

From Stratford, on the Avon; 
I go to London. 



THE SHEPHERD 

You fare far afield. 



SHAKESPEARE 

I seek — a Friend! Not many miles away 
May one not find the Country-Seat of that 
Illustrious youth, the Earl of Southampton? 

THE SHEPHERD 

Look there — Those are his gates. 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 133 

SHAKESPEARE 

[With intense eagerness. ] 

Am I so near? 



THE SHEPHERD 

His castle lights shine there. 



SHAKESPEARE 

Is he within? 



THE SHEPHERD 

He was — he will be — but, look you, he goes 
At sunrise with his train to London town. 

SHAKESPEARE 

Where is he now? 

THE SHEPHERD 

Beside the river-bank 
He wanders with a troop of young court- folk 
As gay and mad as he. With gray heads too, 



i 3 4 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

Old sheep-dogs — like to mine — to keep their 

lambs 
From frollicking too far. 

\ln the distance soft music sounds and 

ceases.] 

SHAKESPEARE 

How wondrously 
Those floating tones assuage the ear and 

heart ! 
I had forgotten there was music in 
The world. [Another strain is heard.'] 



THE SHEPHERD 

O, ay! They even walk to tunes, 
Dance, sing and play with cup and ball by 

night, 
And squander days at cards and dice and 

bowls. 

SHAKESPEARE 

And never tire! 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 135 

THE SHEPHERD 

If they tire, sir, 
It is with pleasure. If they weary, sure 
Tis surfeiting of overmuch enjoyment. 

SHAKESPEARE 

There's art far finer, friend, in starving for 
A joy and feeding with sharp joy upon 
It, when it comes at last. 

[Soft music is heard nearer. It ceases 
again.] 

THE SHEPHERD 

[Turning and pointing to the right. ] 

See where they come! 

SHAKESPEARE 

[Looking and speaking eagerly.] 
He who walks first with curls that burn deep 

gold, 
Under the silver moon, is the young Earl,— 
Is it not so? 



136 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

THE SHEPHERD 

Ay, he's but fourteen years 
Yet heighted like a man. The little maid 
He leads, the Lady Bridget Manners, — whom 
'Tis said, he courts in deadly boyish-love. 



SHAKESPEARE 

A man's tenacity! Four years ago 
He lisped in his child-music of this child. 
[The music, still soft, is heard continu- 
ously, close at hand. A procession 
of youths and maidens of from four- 
teen to sixteen years approach with 
two or three older men and women 
and accompanied by musicians play- 
ing. They wear summer court cos- 
tumes and Hit across the stage from 
the right to the left, and enter the 
gates of the castle. They pass with 
soft laughter and music, more like a 
procession of spirits than of human 
beings. As Southampton passes, 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 137 

Shakespeare springs forward, with 
outstretched hands as if to touch and 
hold him. The procession disappears 
completely behind the gates and wall 
of the castle. Shakespeare stands in 
the centre of the stage watching as if 
expecting it to re-appear.'] 

THE SHEPHERD 

They will not come again to-night! Listen — > 
I have a hut a stone's throw space from here, 
Rest there — the ground is hard, ev'n for 
young bones. 

SHAKESPEARE 

Not so. I'll sweeter rest beneath the stars. 

SHEPHERD 

Well — well — we are all mad when we are 
young ! 

[Exit Shepherd to hut."] 
[Enter hastily from gate an old Lady- 
in-Waiting, stout and breathless.'] 



138 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

LADY-IN-WAITING 

{Calling.'] Elisabeth! Elisabeth Vernon! 

Where has the mad girl gone? Find her I 
must, 

Else will her Cousin Essex rail at me. 

[She hurries into the shrubbery near 
the gate without seeing Shakespeare, 
Enter from the group of trees at right, 
close to where Shakespeare stands, 
filisabeth Vernon. She is a tall girl 
of eleven or twelve years wearing a 
pale green dress of soft silky gauze, 
clinging closely and not reaching quite 
to her ankles. Her arms and throat 
are bare. Her dark hair falls on her 
shoulders and her head is crowned 
with a wreath of green leaves. As 
she sees Shakespeare, she stops and 
stands staring at him in surprise.] 

SHAKESPEARE 

My Dryad come to life! 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 139 

ELISABETH 

[Looking at him wonderingly, speaks 
with easy, fearless confidence.] 

What is a Dryad? 

SHAKESPEARE 

Enchanting fearlessness ! 

[He speaks as if telling a fairy tale to a 
child. ,] 

. . . A Dryad is 
A woodland sylph, born in a hollow tree 
Needing no shelter but the leaves and sky. 

ELISABETH 

What pretty words you speak! But I'm no 

Dryad ! 
For I am but Elisabeth Vernon. 
Now, who are you? 

SHAKESPEARE 

A Passionate Pilgrim. 

ELISABETH 

[Shaking her head."] 
I never heard of one before! But though 
Your speech is strange, I see your gentlehood. 



l 4 o WILL SHAKESPEARE 

SHAKESPEARE 

[With emotion. 1 
High Heaven has giv'n you vision far beyond 
Your world and years. 



ELISABETH 

My world? What is my world? 



SHAKESPEARE 

You're of the castle and the court. 



ELISABETH 

[Joyously.'} 

Well guessed! 
[She draws near Shakespeare, speaking 
confidentially.'] 
Have you seen anyone pass here? 



SHAKESPEARE 

A troop — 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 141 

ELISABETH 

[Interrupting.'] 
Ah! They are in the castle! He forgot! 

[She tears the wreath of green leaves 
from her head and throws it on the 
ground, stamping on it with fury.] 



SHAKESPEARE 

[With quick anger.] 
Wanton cruelty! 



ELISABETH 

[Looking about in wonder.] 

Where? Who is cruel? 



SHAKESPEARE 

[Picking up the wreath and smoothing 

the crushed leaves. Elisabeth draws 

closer, looking at him with surprise.] 

You — who so wound these gentle, harmless 

leaves. 



142 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

ELISABETH 

I wore that crown for Southampton — I 

waited 
In the meadow where he said he'd come, 
And he forgot me quite! 

SHAKESPEARE 

[With gay irony.] 

A fruitless tryst ! 
This is my love-struck Dryad in very truth! 

ELISABETH 

Who walked he with ? A maid with hair like 
flax? 

SHAKESPEARE 

[With mock earnestness.'} 
The very same! 

ELISABETH 

That frozen Bridget Manners! 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 143 

SHAKESPEARE 

\ln the same manner. ~\ 
The very same! 



ELISABETH 

{Suddenly sobbing.'] 

He has forgotten me, 
And no one loves me! 



SHAKESPEARE 

Magic there surely is 
In both her childish hate and love that melts 
My heart within me! Woodland Child- 

Princess, 
/ love you and I never shall forget! 

[Voices within the gate.] 
Elisabeth ! Elisabeth ! 



ELISABETH 

They call! 
And I must go. 



144 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

SHAKESPEARE 

Once more, farewell my Dryad! 

ELISABETH 

[Putting her face close to his.~\ 
I like you much! Pray come to London 
soon! 

[She waves her hand to him and runs 
toward the gate and disappears in the 
shrubbery within the gate.] 

SHAKESPEARE 

Such beings as that radiant girl and boy 
Reveal myself to me. I may not think 
Upon my darlings left behind. Tis ruin. 
Yet I still love and evermore must love — 
Love makes a mighty music in my heart 
And must find noble hearts to answer it 
A world on which to lavish all its wealth. 

[He goes toward back near gates. ] 
I'll wrap myself in dreams of those I've seen, 
And lying at their castle gates all night 
I'll wake with dawn and follow in the dust 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 145 

Of their swift speeding hence, as if 'twere 

clouds 
'Round Phoebus' golden chariot wheels, — to 

London ! 
[He goes to the gates and lies down near 

them, using his bag as a pillow.'] 

CURTAIN END OF ACT II 



ACT III 

Twelve Years Later 

THE LURE OF ELISABETH 

MAY, 1598 



ACT III 

Twelve Years Later 

THE LURE OF ELISABETH 

May, 1598 

Scene: [The inner Court of the London 
house of the Earl of Southampton, The 
sides of the court at right and left and back 
are Hanked by the walls of the house of a 
pinkish cream-colored stone with windows and 
balconies. The space between these walls is 
filled by a grass covered court. On the right 
is a dais with seats, and at the back is an 
arched opening showing an alley bordered by 
a high clipped hedge. The extreme fore- 
ground of the stage is composed of a very 
low Hat terrace which runs all across the stage 
from right to left. The front towards the 
spectators is entirely open. At its farther 

149 



150 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

edge are very high, wide arches reaching al- 
most to the top of the proscenium and sup- 
ported by four slender columns, one at either 
side on the extreme right and left and the 
other two at even distances apart. The char- 
acters pass across this species of lozv terrace, 
supposed to be a part of the front portion of 
the house. Through the lofty arches, all that 
is enacted in the court is seen. When the 
curtain rises, lackeys are hanging tapestries 
and silk hangings over the balconies and plac- 
ing flowers in the stone vases at the sides of 
the court and on the dais. Musicians with 
their instruments enter one of the balconies. 
Laughing maids lean out of the windows of 
the house and the lackeys throw flowers at 
them, which they try to catch. In one of the 
balconies a page plays with a cup and ball and 
another teases a parrot on a perch. Across 
the centre of the green from right to left is 
a stone wall or barrier about three feet in 
height. There are arched exits at each side 
and also a low closed doorway at the left.~\ 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 151 

[Enter Florian from left, hastily yet 
with conceited grace. He is a slender, 
fair-haired youth and wears a page's 
costume of pale blue.'] 



FLORIAN 

[Calling to left.] Now follow the rest of 
you, in Venus' name! 

[Enter four pages, running. Three 
wear the same costume as Florian. 
The fourth, Peter Dumpser, a youth 
of eighteen, wears the worn clothes of 
a rustic] 

FLORIAN 

Stand there, my sky-larks, and tune your 
throats. [To musicians in balcony.] A 
Harmony, Gentlemen, a delectable Harmony 
of Hautboys and Shawms! 



FIRST MUSICIAN 

Which one, gallant Florian? 



152 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

FLORIAN 

The one you have set to my Lord South- 
ampton's song to the Lady Bridget Manners. 

FIRST MUSICIAN 

We have the music here. 

FLORIAN 

We are to salute the Lady Bridget's ears 
with the same this hour when she comes to 
see the fighting with swords at the barriers, 
which my Lord proposes to play to-day be- 
fore the ladies of the Court. Your words, 
chaunters ! 

[The pages produce leaflets with the 
words of the song.'] 

FIRST MUSICIAN 

We are ready, gentle Sir. 

[They play the opening measure.] 

FLORIAN 

[Beating time with a wand.] Now with 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 153 

a softness since the opening words are dolo- 
rous — yet, as there is a daring courage in the 
closing stanzas, with a joyful noise through- 
out. 

\_All begin to sing to the accompaniment 
of the musicians."} 
. Love hath ever wrought me woe, 

Brought me miseries long ago, 

Wrung my soul with piercing pain, 

Furies followed in his train. 



FLORIAN 

[Putting his hands over his ears.} O — O 
— O! Love never wrung the soul of any 
mortal as you are wringing mine now. This 
is harmony run mad. Again the first line. 

THE PAGES 

[Singing.'] Love hath ever wrought me 
woe — 

FLORIAN 

There is a voice there like a grater. [To 



154 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

Peter Dumpser.'] 'Tis yours. You have no 
more voice than a peacock, and (observing 
his costume) without the peacock's excuse of 
pretty feathers. What do you here? 

PETER 

[In a whining voice. ] The Steward bade 
me present myself to you and you bade me 
sing. It is true, Sir, I have no voice. I am 
but endeavoring to make a joyful noise. 

FLORIAN 

Who are you? 

PETER 

My Lord Southampton's new page. 

FLORIAN 

His new page! Then your garments are 
older than your office. Whence do you 
come? 

PETER 

From Stratford. 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 155 

FLORIAN 

From Stratford! As far from London as 
Heaven! Where is your page's dress? 



PETER 

The Steward gave it me, but he bade me 
go to you without delay that you should in- 
struct me in my duty; so I came as I was. 

FLORIAN 

An obedience that has its uses as well as its 
dangers. Go, put on your habit and return 
to me here. 

[Exit Peter. ] 

FLORIAN 

[To pages, beating time."] Again. I will 
take his part. Speak the words with clear- 
ness, for 'tis a well-penned metre intended to 
reach the lady's heart through her ears. 
[All sing.~\ 



156 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

SONG 

Love hath ever wrought me woe, 
Brought me misery long ago, 
Wrung my soul with piercing pain, 
Furies followed in his train. 

But at last I snared the Boy, 
Clipped his wings, and O, the Joy! 
For Love taught my Love Love's ways, 
Nights of balm and blissful days. 

But Alas! the story saddens, 
For the fickle maiden maddens, 
Told me plainly she loved Love, 
Holding him all else above. 

But we cannot love without Love, 
Cannot doff him as a glove, 
We will keep but curb him duly, 
That my Love may love me truly. 

[Exeunt Musicians.'} 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 157 

FLORIAN 

The song is well enough, but I doubt its 
effect. There is more in love than decorum. 
I have watched the Lady Bridget, — and if 
the passion in her run not more to good con- 
duct than tenderness, then my eye is deceived 
as I amourously glint it among the ladies of 
the Court. 

[Enter Peter Dumpser in a habit like 
those of the other pages."] 
[To pages.] Go wait in the ante-chamber 
while I instruct this Mirror of Truth in a little 
vital dissembling. 

[Exeunt pages casting scornful looks at 
Peter.] 

FLORIAN 

What is your name? 

PETER 

Peter Dumpser, Sir. 

FLORIAN 

Peter Dumpser! Your parents were as 



158 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

cruel as mine, who called me Samuel Swales, 
— but when my Lord Southampton asked me 
my name, I answered Florian, whereon he 
immediately gave me a place in his house- 
hold. Could he have a Samuel Swales and 
a Peter Dumpser to carry his love-missives, 
think you? You shall not be Peter, but 
Pierre, after the French fashion. 

PETER 

Is not my own name good enough for a 
page, Sir? 

FLORIAN 

Good enough for a page! Look you, a 
page's office may be the first step to that of 
confidant of a king or the beloved of a prin- 
cess. 

PETER 

How may that be? 

FLORIAN 

'Tis History. I have read it in my Lord's 
books. There was Hyacinthus who was a 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 159 

kind of page to Apollo, Lord of Music. 
Apollo so loved Hyacinthus that he turned 
things about and became his page in turn, 
even carrying his arrows to the chase. There 
was Chastelard, page to Queen Mary of 
Scotland, who, had he not been over-bold, 
might have been made her consort, for did she 
not lean upon him in the Dance? There was 
Ganymede, who was so fair that an eagle car- 
ried him away to be page to Jupiter, one of 
the Kings of Heaven. Since knowing this, 
being rarely beautiful myself, whenever I see 
an eagle, I hide. 

[He takes out of a pouch a hand mirror of 
burnished silver and looks at himself 
with rapture, arranging his curls.] 

PETER 

Can such things be? 

FLORIAN 

Printed History. 

PETER 

I can hardly believe you! 



160 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

FLORIAN 

A page has his opportunities. I see what 
others do not. 

PETER 

[Drawing close and looking at his eyes.'] 
Yet are your eyes no larger than mine! 

FLORIAN 

Dolt! It is not the eye, but what looks 
through it. Listen. All London knows that 
Lord Southampton courts Lady Bridget Man- 
ners. Every dog sees that! But I see that — 
[Here he holds up four -fingers and checks 
off the names on them] while Southampton 
ever pursues Lady Bridget, Mistress Elisa- 
beth Vernon follows Southampton, 'and in 
his turn, Master Will Shakespeare watches 
Mistress Elisabeth Vernon with fixed and 
dreaming eyes — and so there they are like 
four crows on a wall, each looking after the 
other. 

PETER 

Would that I might see as you do! 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 161 

FLORIAN 

Behold me. I am still a page, yet when 
my Lord goes to Court, I am always with 
the gentlewomen-in-waiting by my good will. 
There I am in the midst of them, all hot in 
amity, of look so lovely, smiling to the eye. 
I gracify the matters with the proudest of 
them. It is, gentle Florian here and kind 
Florian there! There is one named Phillida, 
— a tall, sad-eyed, very perspiring girl, — but 
with a rare appreciation of me. I have writ 
her madrigals. Do you think if they were 
signed Samuel Swales there could be aught 
of romance about them? But to Court we 
seldom go now, for my Lord passes his days 
at the playhouse with the great playwright 
Master Will Shakespeare, who has become so 
famous that even the Queen commands him 
to give one of his plays before her at the 
Earl of Merton's country seat next month. 

PETER 

Is Will Shakespeare become so famous as 
that? 



162 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

FLORIAN 

Lord Southampton is foolish enough to 
think him as great a man as he is himself — 
but then he is a poet too! But for yourself, 
Peter, remember well when my Lord asks 
your name answer boldly Pierre. 

PETER 

But that is not true. 

FLORIAN 

Truth is out of fashion at court. Were it 
to come in again the Queen's imagination of 
herself could never survive it. It once ruled 
the universe undisputed, but that was ages 
gone when Adam was but a vapour and Eve 
a sweet breath of air. No, no, Pierre. Be- 
lieve me, to lie honorably is one of the first 
duties of a page. The guests come soon. I 
have not eaten since morning. By my soul, 
which I believe has its dwelling in that part 
which nourishes me, I am hungry! 
[Enter the other pages.] 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 163 

FIRST PAGE 

Shall we keep the Court, Sir, as is the cus- 
tom at this hour? 

FLORIAN 

[Angrily] Who bade you intrude on me? 
Pierre keeps the Court to-day, while I eat. 
Out — and wait on me when I bid you. 

[Exit pages with angry looks at Florian 
and Pierre.] 

FLORIAN 

I go. Keep you the Court. If any stranger 
come, ask him his name and business. If he 
answer not to your satisfaction, be in the 
bones of him at once. 

PETER 

[Timidly.] How may that be, seeing I 
have no sword? 

FLORIAN* 

Have you not fists and feet? . Speak to 



1 64 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

him a rough speech full of passions with your 
tongue and let your other members do the 
rest. Come aside and I will show you the 
right knock. See — there — and there — and 
there — 

[Exeunt Florian and Peter, Florian strik- 
ing and kicking and tripping Peter up, 
Petter helplessly parrying his blows.] 
\Enter Shakespeare and Southampton, 
walking slowly, their arms around each 
other's shoulders, their heads 'bent to- 
gether in earnest talk. They wear 
Court costumes, Southampton's of 
more splendid ornament than Shake- 
speare's. Southampton wears his hair 
in long golden curls on his shoulders. 
At centre they stop and separate, 
Shakespeare still keeping his hand on 
Southampton's shoulder.'] 



SHAKESPEARE 

Beware of Essex. 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 165 

SOUTHAMPTON" 

[With surprise.'] Say you so, and why? 

SHAKESPEARE 

Mistake me not, Southampton, for the man 

Compels my love; — since Nature hath herself 

Compounded him of vital elements. 

Urbanity innate, a noble person, 

Of courtesy that oft fulfils itself 

Against the current of his headstrong will. 

But deep beneath the seeming of such grace, 

Lie boldness, even to temerity, 

And arrogance that forces him to rule, 

Even though that rule be ruin to himself 

And those swept with him in audacity. 

SOUTHAMPTON 

For him the Queen waxes uxorious, 
Softer than melting honey in the sun, 
Which Essex' fingers dabble in at will. 
Such moulding at her years is deep impressed. 
Essex is safe. 



i66 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

SHAKESPEARE 

He draws in over- fast 
Of the Queen's courtesy — as does a child, 
Nursed ever by a too indulgent nurse, 
And he will tire as does the sated child 
And seek a newer plenty of his own 
O'er which alone he may have sovereignty, 
And give of it to whom and when he wills. 
I speak but from imperious love of you — 
Trust not his dangerous fondness. Join no 

scheme 
Fledged by his rash imagination. 
Let comets dash their ruin through the 

spheres, 
Shine you a radiant light in your own place, 
Apart and safe. 

[A fanfare of trumpets is heard without.'] 
What pleasure claims the hour? 



SOUTHAMPTON 

We fight with swords against these barriers 
I here have raised. I'm tired of dallying 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 167 

With baby sports! Look what a wonderful 

Sad change there is in our young Londoners. 

Our ancient wrestling with strong force of 
arms 

To wallowing in ladies' laps at cards; 

Our running steeds and coursing hounds to 
cosseting 

In chambers at the levees of the Queen — 

England's young manhood turned to feeble- 
ness. 

So I, to sting virility to life, 

Again command such foregone games as 
these ; 

A saving calling-back of vigorous times 

When even pleasure taxed men's strength and 
blood. 

I lead one band's assault against the other. 

SHAKESPEARE 

Who leads against you? 

SOUTHAMPTON 

Essex. 



168 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

SHAKESPEARE 

Ah! 
[He takes Southampton's sword in his 
hand and touches the point, which is 
covered by a cap.] 

Mark this. 
A harmless button. — If in ardent play- 
That grows too fierce, such button should be 

wrenched 
From off your enemy's swift-th rusted blade, 
What proud and dear young blood would 

flow! Have care! 
For some men keep a special dagger for — 
Their friends. 

[Another fanfare of trumpets is heard. ] 
[Enter Florian.'] 

FLORIAN 

The guests approach, my Lord. 

SOUTHAMPTON 

Come, Will, 
And meet them at the outer door with me. 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 169 

[He throws one arm over Shakespeare's 
shoulders as they go out at right. .] 

[Exeunt Shakespeare and Southampton, 
followed by Florian.~\ 

[Enter Peter.'} 

PETER 

[Imitating Florian's movements. ,] There! 
My left leg around his leg — thus. His head 
under my arm — thus. My fists pommelling, 
and my right leg kicking — whatever of his 
other parts are at my convenience — thus! 
[Enter two pages.~\ 



FIRST PAGE 

He has a fit! Call the Steward! 



SECOND PAGE 

He is mad! Lock him in the dark cellar! 
Steward ! Steward ! 



170 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

PETER 

Ah, pray you, Sirs, I have no fit. I but 
practice my defense of the court. 



FIRST PAGE 

He is a Natural. 

SECOND PAGE 

His defense of the court! He thinks he is 
in wild Scotland where they kill men for 
sport at supper. 

FIRST PAGE 

And our office is given to him! I shall 
bite my nails with anger for a week. 
[Enter third page.] 

THIRD PAGE 

My Lord Southampton commands you in 
the outer court. 

{Exit third page.] 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 171 

PETER 

Before you go, tell me what like is my 
Lord Southampton, for I have not yet seen 
him. How is he favored? Dark or light? 
How may I know him? 

FIRST PAGE 

[To second page, drawing him aside. ] 
Now hear how I will set a trap for him that 
he may never take our honor from us again. 
[To Peter. ] You may know him by his 
being a little man, fat and scrubby. His hair 
is coal black and he wears it short like a priest, 
and he has a small black mustache on his 
upper lip, like a Frenchman. He carries no 
sword but always a green parrot on his left 
wrist. 

PETER 

Now can I never mistake him! 

SECOND PAGE 

[Looking down the alley, speaks to the first 



i}2 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

page aside. ] Quick! Hide here with me, and 
see what follows. 

[The two pages go to right as if to go 
out, but hide behind a column.] 



THE PAGES 

Farewell, Peter! Defend the court, Peter! 

PETER 

[Looks about the court, and down the 

alley at left back.] Someone comes! O — he 

is a tall man — he carries a sword. A very 

tall man and of a masterful port. O! O! 

Hardy as I am, I am very vengeably afraid. 

[He gradually withdraws backward 

against the further wall. Southampton 

appears at end of alley.] 

PETER 

Florian said — "speak to him a rough speech 
full of passions." But I have no passions! 
O, if my Mother were but here to teach me 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 173 

language! But I will do the best I learned 
from her. 

[Enter Southampton.] 



PETER 

[Going toward him with a swagger.] Your 
name, and business, Scullmullion ! 



SOUTHAMPTON 

What have we here? Out of my way, 
monkey. 

PETER 

[As if remembering a lesson.] "If he 

answer not to your satisfaction " [He 

flies at Southampton and springing on him 
winds his legs and arms around him, kicking 
and striking him.] Learn not to trespass in 
the Earl of Southampton's house! 

[The two pages behind the column run 

away.] 
[Enter Florian.] 



174 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

SOUTHAMPTON 

Here, Florian ! Help me pull off this Devil- 
fish, all legs and arms! 

[Florian pulls Peter away.] 

SOUTHAMPTON 

[To Peter.] What do you mean by such 
lunacy ? 

PETER 

[Pointing to Florian.'] He bade me. 

SOUTHAMPTON 

What means he, Florian? 

FLORIAN 

My Lord, he has lived with sheep and cows 
all his life and has their understanding of 
English. I bade him keep intruders from 
the court, and not knowing your Lordship, 
this is his reading of my instructing. 

SOUTHAMPTON 

Chastise him well, Florian, that he may re- 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 175 

member that well-meant mistakes are as dan- 
gerous as acts of evil intent. . . . Bestow 
those seats with more* dignity. Place one on 
the highest dais as if it were a throne, and 
wait me here. 

[Exit Southampton.'} 

FLORIAN* 

O Pierre, Pierre, you preserve your own 
integrity at the expense of that of others, and 
yet persist in calling your kind of truth a 
virtue ! 

[He catches Peter by the collar and 

strikes him with his wand. Peter half 

eludes him, running away a few steps, 

but Florian catches him again.] 

That was a fine recoil and the slant of your 

body at this moment better drawn than the 

leaning tower of Pisa. 

[Fanfare of trumpets without. The 
musicians re-enter balcony. Florian 
releases Peter.] 
Help me, Pierre! 



176 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

[They arrange the chairs on the dais as 
Southampton directed. A festal march 
is played. Enter musicians and guests. 
S A page calls the names as they enter 
and take their places on the dais. 
Southampton enters first and directs 
them to their places.] 

PAGE 

Lord Herbert. The Countess of Rutland. 
Lady Bridget Manners. The Earl of Rut- 
land. 

[Southampton leads all but Lady Bridget 
Manners to the foremost seats on the 
lowest steps of the dais. Then he takes 
Lady Bridget's hand. She has pale 
golden hair and is dressed in white.] 

SOUTHAMPTON 

In Joust and Tourney of our elder custom, 
There ever was a Queen of Love and Beauty. 
Fair Sweetest, be our Queen and crown our 
winning. 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 177 

[He tries to lead her to the chair at the 
top of the dais.~\ 

BRIDGET 

[Drawing back.] My place is by my 
Mother's side, my Lord. 

COUNTESS OF RUTLAND 

Such is my wish, my Lord, and my com- 
mand. 

[Lady Bridget takes the chair beside the 
Countess of Rutland.] 

SOUTHAMPTON 

[With impatience and annoyance."] 
'Tis fighting against barriers indeed! 

[During this dialogue, Elisabeth Vernon 
with a gentlezvoman-in-zvaiting enters 
at left. Elisabeth advances and then 
zvithdraws to left and listens with con- 
centrated attention until Lady Bridget 
takes her place by the Countess of Rut- 
land. Elisabeth wears a dress of ruby 



178 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

colored brocade with a front of white 
and gold and pearls; a standing lace 
ruff and jewels in her dark hair. The 
Earl of Essex enters at left and they 
advance together, the gentlewoman 
following.'] 

PAGE 

Mistress Elisabeth of Vernon, and The Earl 
of Essex. 

SOUTHAMPTON 

Welcome, noble cousins! 
Essex, stay here. Fair Mistress Vernon, 
wait ! 

[Essex stands by the chair on the second 
step of the dais that Southampton has 
indicated and Elisabeth Vernon stands 
alone in centre. 1 



SOUTHAMPTON 

[Pointing to the chair on the top of the 
dais.] 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 179 

See — where there waits for you a queenless 

throne ! 
Have pity, pray you, on our Headless State! 

ELISABETH 

[With mocking raillery.'] 
r A throne a-begging in a world like ours, 
Where every woman dreams herself a queen! 
"Twould sure be reckless waste. Where is 
my crown? 

SOUTHAMPTON 

In Love's sweet kingdom 'tis the Queen gives 

crowns, 
Wearing them not. Be thou our generous 

Queen. 

ELISABETH 

Risk no fair titles till my reign be tested ! 

[Southampton leads her to the top of the 
dais. She sits and intently watches 
Southampton. The musicians in the 
balcony continue the festal march while 
other guests enter. The page continues 



180 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

to announce them, but his voice is 
drowned by the music. A trumpeter 
sounds a call to arms. Essex and four 
noblemen take their places on the far- 
ther side of the barrier. Southampton 
and four other noblemen stand in the 
foreground on the side of barrier 
nearest to the audience. The pages 
divest them of their ruffs, cloaks and 
upper doublets and they stand in their 
white silk blouses and trunks and hose. 
The pages give them swords. ,] 

SOUTHAMPTON 

[To Herbert, with solicitude.] 
Where now is Will? I shall not play without 
him. 

[Enter slowly down the clipped alley at 
back, Shakespeare. He passes the 
others until he comes to Southampton. 
As he enters, Elisabeth Vernon turns 
and fixes her eyes upon him, and as he 
passes her he turns slowly, as if forced 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 181 

to do so, and looks fixedly into her 
eyes; then passes on.~\ 

SOUTHAMPTON 

[Taking a sword from a page and holding 
it out to Shakespeare.] 
Fight on my side, Sweet Will, that I may win. 

SHAKESPEARE 

Though love is free, I am not of your caste. 
I am a player, yet — I will not play. 
All that takes place upon the earth requires 
A watcher. Let me watch. 

SOUTHAMPTON 

[With anger.] A subtle stab 
And undeserved. Who does not know that 

Genius 
Is of the highest, rarest caste of Heaven! 

SHAKESPEARE 

We're on the earth ! But be not hurt, South- 
ampton, 



182 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

Nor weight me with your pity, for I joy 
In the still watch I keep, more than you can 
In all your straining play. 

[The trumpeter sounds a second call to 
arms. The combatants stand at atten- 
tion. Shakespeare stands alone at left 
near front and watches Elisabeth Ver- 
non. The game begins. Florian and 
Peter are in the foreground at right. ] 

FLORIAN* 

[To Peter. 1 Now there'll be sport! 
Behold the Lady Bridget. — She's as pure 
And cool as is a snowdrop in chill March — 
A Morning Flower! But there above her 

gleams 
A Beauty of Mysterious Night. Mark how 
Her dark regard burns on Southampton, yet 
He feels it not, as ever low he bends 
To pluck his white Bud from the Fields of 

Dawn. 
[The musicians play. Essex and his men 

overpower Southampton and his fol- 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 183 

lowers and drive them back from the 
barrier. But Essex is thrown down 
by Southampton. Excitement among 
the guests. The musicians stop play- 
ing.'] 

COUNTESS OF RUTLAND 

The game is over-rough, my Lords, methinks. 

SOUTHAMPTON 

Madam, the Queen's great father and your 

king 
Much loved the game. 

ELISABETH 

Men love not play with toys! 
Am I called Queen? Then let the game go 
on. 
[Shakespeare has watched only Elisa- 
beth. Now he turns wholly to South- 
ampton. They fight again. South- 
ampton and his men overpower Essex 
and his band. The button on Essex's 



184 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

sword comes off. Southampton tries 
to elude him, but Essex, in a frenzy of 
excitement, forces him to fight, and 
Southampton is suddenly wounded in 
the right arm. Shakespeare has grad- 
ually drawn nearer and nearer to Es- 
sex and Southampton.] 

COUNTESS OF RUTLAND 

[Rising.] 
Witness! I prophesied brutality! 

ELISABETH 

[Also rising.] 

Superb! Ah! how I thrill with ecstasy! 

A sight worth living for in our tame world! 

[As Essex's sword button falls off, 

Shakespeare springs into the grassy 

arena.] 

SHAKESPEARE 

O dangerous Force! Foul play! 

[He seizes Essex by the arm and wrests 
his sword from him.] 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 185 

SOUTHAMPTON 

[Gaily. ] I thank you, Essex. 
Small wounds may turn great cowards into 
heroes. 

ELISABETH 

[Hurriedly descending from her seat at 
the top of the dais with a cry of 
alarm.'] 
How should I dream that blood was drawn! 

[She draws close to Southampton. Her 
voice breaks with emotion. ] 



ELISABETH 

He bleeds! 
[She turns angrily to Essex.] 
Robert, this is more like a dastard's trick 
Than noble sport between two gentlemen. 

ESSEX 

Lash me not more, my cousin, with your 
tongue 



186 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

Than does the heart within me, though my 

hand 
And hasty head oft play it false! 
[To Southampton.] 

Pardon ! 

SOUTHAMPTON 

[Laughing.'] 
How may one pardon when there is no sin ! 



ELISABETH 

You bleed! 

[She tears the soft muslin and lace scarf 
from her shoulders and binds South- 
■ ampton's arm with passionate solici- 
tude. Essex watches her with an an- 
gry frown. The guests on the dais 
are grouped together; some watching 
Southampton and Elisabeth, some 
talking together with excitement. 
Herbert has drawn Shakespeare aside 
at left and they confer apart, not ob- 
serving that Elisabeth has bound 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 187 

Southampton's arm. They now come 
forward. During this scene the pages 
are rapidly re-dressing the combatants. 
Elisabeth takes a crimson ribbon from 
her dress and fastens it on Southamp- 
ton's arm."] 



ELISABETH 

An honor fairly won. Your knights, 

And you, had triumphed, 'ere my cousin's 

sword 
Pierced you with such unlicensed cruelty. 
[Southampton drops on one knee, takes 
Elisabeth's hand and kisses it, bending 
low. Pembroke stands near. Essex 
and Shakespeare at some little distance 
observing all that happens.] 



ESSEX 

[Turning slightly away sings sneeringly 
in a low voice, but with great distinct- 
ness. ] 



188 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

" Every ass 
Must have his grass, 
And every fool his favor!" 

[The group in centre turn to look at Es- 
sex with confused surprise, as if not 
catching the words .] 



SHAKESPEARE 

And had you won the favor, Essex, speak— 
Which title would best fit you, fool or ass? 



ESSEX 

[Instinctively feeling for his sword, 
which Shakespeare still holds, and 
then making a gesture of anger. ] 
Poets may safely jest with empty scabbards! 



SHAKESPEARE 

[Handing him his sword."] 
While Earls may never trifle with full brains! 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 189 

ESSEX 

Mine has a memory for more than verses, 
E'en such as yours, and punctuates reminders 
With the rash blood of masquerading rustics, 
As Ireland and Tyrone shall attest. 

SHAKESPEARE 

Yet, in a universe where nothing counts 
Except the soul, I doubt not, Essex, that 
We two shall meet one day on equal ground. 
Pray you recall this when you match yourself 
One day against the masquerading rustic. 
[While Shakespeare and Essex are talk- 
ing, Florian helps Southampton dress. 
A fanfare of trumpets. Enter a 
page.] 

PAGE 

My Lords, the banquet waits ! 

SOUTHAMPTON 

Follow me, friends, 
And drink to skill at arms, and knightliness, 
To put King Arthur's Table to the blush ! 



i 9 o WILL SHAKESPEARE 

[Exit all at right, but the pages, Essex, 
Elisabeth Vernon and her gentle- 
woman. The pages begin to dress Es- 
sex. Essex shows his impatience at 
being dressed. One page tries to fas- 
ten a knee ribbon; another kneels, at- 
taching the clasp of his shoe which has 
come undone in the game; another 
tries to put on an upper garment; and 
a fourth to replace his ruff.] 



ESSEX 

[Struggling to free himself."] 

Off, louts! You finger me and cling like 
leeches. 

Off! Off! Out of my way! Out of my 
way! 
[He flings the pages aside and springs 
toward the exit, his cloak hanging 
from one shoulder, his ruff unfas- 
tened, and his whole dress in disor- 
der.'] 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 191 

ESSEX 

Elisabeth ! 

[Elisabeth has just reached the exit and 
turns when she hears his voice. She 
returns to him.'] 

ELISABETH 

I listen, Robert. Speak. 

ESSEX 

[With rough vigor, but with great kind- 
ness.'] 
Cousin, that I have love for you, you know; 
That I have pride in you, you guess; and yet 
All that which pride breeds in my blood for 

you 
Is still a warning unforeseen. Should I 
Unveil my heart, you'd find two images, 
My wife's and yours, enshrined there each by 

each; 
Yet neither form usurps the other's place — - 
Each holds her own. She first, you next, 



192 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

And claiming both my staunchest champion- 
ing 
Should there be need of such. What are 

your years? 
For, I forget their sum; — so rich, so large, 
So lavish is your burgeoning, you seem 
Even to me, who am of your own race, 
One of those women, rarest on the earth, 
Who have no youth, nor age, when woman- 
hood 
Has ripened them; and yet — you are a 

woman 
With all a woman's weakness — all her fears, 
And all her heritage of pain. As frail 
As you are proud. 

[He speaks with earnest force, taking 
her hand in his."] 

You know that in our world 
There are sharp lines that women such as you 
May never cross. Once crossed, their white- 
ness stained, 
They may no more be white. No more re- 
turn. 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 193 

Guard yourself strictly. You stand near the 
throne, 

Where all eyes stare, and somewhat of seclu- 
sion, 

Of quietness and modest dignity, 

Befits a woman of your rank and place. 

ELISABETH 

How glibly men debar a woman from 

The air of freedom where they take their 

pleasure ! 
How you would rend a woman who thus 

dared 
To caution you, or hedge about your will, 
With mean precaution. Robert, know you 

not 
God has made women, as well as men, with 

souls, 
Bold and impassioned, daring all of life? 
Born to consume themselves divinely in 
A passion's flame, yet ever strong enough 
To fling their passion, quite outworn, aside, 
If some supreme ambition beckoned them 
' On to a fruitfuller field. 



194 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

ESSEX 

This is indeed 
A man's stout spirit in a woman's breast. 
The world has cruel handling for such! 
Again, what is your age? 

ELISABETH 

Past twenty-two! 

ESSEX 

{With irony.'] 
The age of wisdom, Sweet, undoubtedly. 
Certain the age when elder wisdom counts 
For naught. No more of mine I'll waste. 

{Again roughly.'] 
Of late, I've seen Southampton's eyes on you. 

ELISABETH 

[With raillery.] 
On me! He has but two and they are fixed 
On Bridget Manners, But you entertain. 
Speak on. 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 195 

ESSEX 

His eyes are fixed on her, on you, 
On every passing woman. Well I know 
That bold, untrammeled, roving, gypsy eye! 
The gambler's eye, with women. Marking 

them 
As this or that most lucky card, to bring 
Good fortune, it may be, and pleasure cer- 
tainly. 

ELISABETH 

This of your friend! What then is friend- 
ship worth, 
If you so strangely vilify Southampton? 



ESSEX 

He is my friend, and I am his, be sure ; 

His is the spirit and the blood that magnetize 

Both men and women; for whose sunny 

touch, 
Lighting their flesh-dulled Souls, they risk 

too much 



196 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

Of wisdom and of wisdom's fruitful ways. 
And yet he is of fair and blameless honor. 
The brightest star in England's galaxy. 
But where a woman is concerned, he is 
A poisoned brand of swift, contagious fire. 

[He speaks ■fiercely.'] 
Listen, Elizabeth. Were Southampton 
To put the honor of one of my race 
In jeopardy, my hand must redden with 
His blood. Remember this, for I'll not tear 
My heart out of its sheath again for you 
To smile upon its two-edged pride, that cuts 
Not for myself alone but for my race — 
And you . . . The campaign into Ire- 
land 
Draws ever near, and should it be 
Then I must leave you here alone 
Without a kinsman's ward and guarding 
presence. 

ELISABETH 

[Caressingly.'] 
Ah, Powers above! What nobleness of heart 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 197 

Now wrought upon to pain, without a cause! 
Go speak these words to Bridget Manners, 

for 
Southampton ever hovers over her 
Pure, fragrant whiteness — the most daring 

bee 
That ever boldly pillaged honey, in 
June's palpitating balm. 

[She draws near to Essex and peers with 

mockery and sweetness into his face."] 
What fierce, sad eyes f 

ESSEX 

[Angrily,] 

Such siren words and ways but anger me. 
[Elisabeth stands motionless with droop- 
ing head, all sudden gentleness. She 
puts her arms about his neck. Essex 
looks at her a moment and then speaks 
with tenderness. ,] 
Forgive me, Beautiful — Most beautiful — 
Only do not forget! Go to your friends. 
[He releases her arms — kissing her 



198 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

hands. She smiles into his face with 
confident strength. Exit Elisabeth 
with her gentlewoman.'] 



ESSEX 

Now could I win Southampton's pledge to go 
With me to Ireland and hasten the campaign, 
So might this danger pass. The glittering 

bait 
Of Cecil's pending embassy to Paris 
Has captivated quite his youthful eye, 
And when the lure of pleasure fills his sight, 
How may a battle-field dissolve the spell? 
[Enter Southampton.] 

SOUTHAMPTON 

Most fortunately met! When the night falls 

And all my guests are gone, I pray you, 
Essex, 

Meet me here. I would speak with you se- 
cretly 

Upon the scheme you late dropped in my ear. 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 199 

ESSEX 

[With intense eagerness.'] 
You'll go with me to Ireland? 

SOUTHAMPTON 

I swear 
My blood is half asleep in England now, 
Sickening at games for ladies — though they 

be 
Lilies and roses all, to make men drunk 
With rich allurement! Briefly, I must go 
To Paris first with Cecil — then with you 
To Ireland. Your wild adventure there, 
Even in thought, quickens my blood and 

brain. 

ESSEX 

When do you go to France? 

SOUTHAMPTON 

For yet awhile 
I am held here. Mere Flower-Bonds, in- 
deed! 



200 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

Yet not too quickly broken, since my word 
Is pledged in diverse ways to divers men. 
Yet I may bring all circuits to a close 
Before June's dew-steeped nights are gently 
past. 
[Sound of music and carousal at right. ] 
I may not linger now. At ten o'clock 
I'll meet you here. 

ESSEX 

My word on it. At ten, 
Yonder I'll walk alone in the yew path, 
Lacking to-day the small neat speech most 

meet 
For little ladies' ears at feasts. 

[Exit Essex by the clipped alley at back. 
Enter Shakespeare from right. Sound 
of music and laughter without. ] 

SOUTHAMPTON 

Ah, Will! 
Sweet Will, at sight of you my will dissolves ! 
I thought to play the Host, but now instead 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 201 

I'll let them laugh and drink of earthly wine; 
We'll quaff a finer vintage of the soul. 
Your eyes are clouded, that should be 
Clear as your mind's un fathomed deeps. 
Whence comes the cloud? I'll penetrate it 
too! 

SHAKESPEARE 

Who knows where clouds are born? To 

know them mists, 
Formed out of air and dew intangible, 
Dissolving ever into mists again, 
Is all we need to know. So can we bear 
Their blinding. 

SOUTHAMPTON 

Blind me not with imagery, 
However fair. Turn your thoughts home- 
ward now? 

SHAKESPEARE 

Not now alone, but ever more and more, 
For there are loves and griefs too keen and 
strong 



202« WILL SHAKESPEARE 

To sleep. The cords that bind me there are 

tightening. 
They cannot break and soon must draw me 

back 
To Stratford — to my children and- — my wife. 

SOUTHAMPTON 

Beseech you, go not hence! Illume us here. 
Too much in this our time by greatness gone 
Have we been overcast. Greece dead, Rome 

past — 
You live! Filling our beauty-craving hearts, 
Quickening our dying hopes and dead ideals, 
The age's richness lives within your sway, 
Joy of the hour and splendor of the past. 

SHAKESPEARE 

There's splendor in such homage! Royal 

State 
In praise so nobly lavished — so unselfed. 
What have I to return? Only this truth — 
You and one other hold my heart — its life 
To damn or bless. Its only sustenance 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 203 

To give and serve. Should danger menace 

you, 
I'd snatch you hence. Should Hatred lurk 

to strike, 
It must strike me and spend its venom here, 
And reach you, if it must, a stingless thing! 

SOUTHAMPTON 

[Musingly. ] 
I and one other hold his heart. But who 
Can have the power or art so to enslave 
A King? 

SHAKESPEARE 

No art, but power infinite. 
An orb of fire — so full of light and heat 
That ev'n her careless rays cause whatsoe'er 
They fall upon to live and grow and bloom 
For her alone; for if their light be gone, 
Such revel of life once known, loss would be 

death. 
Fire oft without light like those dark rays 
Of our known sun, which stream to earth's 

deep centre, 



204 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

Dark, lightless rays, yet giving life to all, 
Who dwell upon Earth's surface. A Flame 
of Life! 

SOUTHAMPTON 

In Heaven's truth, some goddess of his 
dreams ! 

SHAKESPEARE 

Dreams are but — dreams! . . . My 
goddess is — a woman. 

SOUTHAMPTON 

This is no sylvan maid nor London courtesan. 

SHAKESPEARE 

I said an orb of fire. Orbs dwell beyond our 

ken 
In the bright firmament above, to which 
We lift our aching eyes. 

SOUTHAMPTON 

Ah — raves he thus 
Of soirie court lady or some princess, seen 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 205 

But never yet approached? This well may 

be. 
A Poet's fancy, from which poems spring. 
Dream on your fill and let me share your 

dream ? 

SHAKESPEARE 

In sleep last night I sailed upon the sea 
And felt its briny spray upon my cheek; 
Tasted and swallowed it, as 'twere salt 

tears — 
A woman's tears — a maddening, bitter-sweet, 
And I am water-wild to-day, and so 
Let me alone! 

SOUTHAMPTON 

Sweet Will, forgive, I pray. 
Love should share all — ev'n dreams! 



SHAKESPEARE 

This, if a dream, 
Is one that I must dream alone — alone — 
To its fore-destined waking; for we wake, 



206 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

Be sure, be very sure, from every sleep, 
However deep and sweet and long it be. 

[After short pause. ] 
How fares your princely suit to Bridget Man- 
ners? 

SOUTHAMPTON 

My flower of dawn! My vestal dove! She's 

mine! 
By every timid, virgin sign. And soon 
■I'll woo her fresh lips to confess their truth, 
And take their first love-blossom with my 

own. 
[Enter a messenger from the. Globe 

Theatre. ,] 

MESSENGER 

[Obsequiously. ] 
lYour pardon, noble Lord and Master Will, 
That I do so intrude — 

SHAKESPEARE 

We have stout hearts 
And survive the intrusion. Speak its cause. 
[The messenger bows low.~\ 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 207 

MESSENGER 

The Earl of Merton at whose country seat 
You purposed with your company to play 
A fortnight hence, before the Queen and 

Court, 
Has sent in haste to say the play must be 
Next week — 'Tis so the Queen herself com- 
mands ; 
To-night our wagons and our company 
Must start, and this too sudden going hence 
For the Earl's play and for our month-long 

tour 
Has thrown our people into mad confusion. 
They wildly run about like hens and geese 
Into whose very midst a fox has sprung. 
Your steadying presence can alone compel 
Order and calmness there. 

SHAKESPEARE 

Go — Tell my flock 
I will be with them soon, within an hour. 
Fly — so their minds may rest! 



208 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

[He gives the Messenger a piece of 
gold.~\ 

MESSENGER 

A generous heart! 
[Exit Messenger.] 

SOUTHAMPTON 

You go — you go to-night? 

SHAKESPEARE 

For but a month! 

SOUTHAMPTON 

Forget not you are pledged to me in June. 
Then falls the Masque at Tichfield, where I'll 

cause 
Such Faery-Magic to bewitch each sense 
That you shall dream my dream the only 

truth ; 
One mystic night not linked to Fact or Time. 
I have your 'pledge? You will be with me 

then? 
Upon your holy word, than which I count 
Nothing more sacred. 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 209 

SHAKESPEARE 

[Laughing.'] 

Over-earnest heat 
Over a trifling thing! Am I not pledged? 
[Enter Florian at back carrying a silver 
casket. He sings.'] 



FLORIAN'S SONG 



Mighty Venus, mightier Love, 

Help who weareth this Disguise — 

Help him, Heavenly Powers above! 
Guard, where deadly peril lies. 

II 

Mask his face and mask his heart; 

Hide him from her dangerous eyes; 
Shield him, lest Love's fiery dart, 

Find its Billet and — he dies! 



210 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

SOUTHAMPTON* 

There singing goes my most familiar sprite. 
A quaint youth, full of odd imagination. 
I'll question and he'll something strange reply. 
Where go you Florian ? Come close and tell. 

FLORIAN 

To place this casket in your private room. 
Thanking your Lordship for your trust in 

me — 
Yet knowing well your Lordship fords a 

stream 
As well upon a Jackass as a Racer — 
Or Peter Dumpser would not be my mate ! 



SOUTHAMPTON 

What did I say? Bring me the casket here. 

[Southampton unlocks the casket, while 

Florian retires to some distance and 

waits. Southampton takes out a 

courtier's costume of black with a lace 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 211 

collar and the jewelled chain, star and 

blue ribbon of the order of the Garter, 

also a black mask. To Shakespeare.'] 

I'll whisper in your ear what no one here 

May know, save only you and Florian. 

Hide deep my jest. The evening of the 

Masque 
I shall be garbed in this mysterious black, 
Wearing th' insignia of the Star and Garter, 
And further closely masked in black. 
There are three Garters living now in Eng- 
land, 
And all will come to my June revelry, 
And thus to mystify my curious guests 
Will cause confusion and amazing haps; 
For all these men have plots, amours and 
schemes. 
[Laughter of guests approaching is 
heard.'] 

A VOICE WITHOUT 

[At right.] 
Southampton — Come ! 



212 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

SOUTHAMPTON 

They call, and I must go! 
[He touches the costume and casket. ,] 
Go — place these, Florian, in my cabinet, 
And bring me here the key. 

[Voices without, at right."] 

Southampton — Come ! 

SOUTHAMPTON] 

[To Shakespeare.'] 
You stay an hour? 

SHAKESPEARE 

One hour stol'n from time! 
[Exit Southampton, at right.] 

SHAKESPEARE 

[Taking jewels and costume in his hands 
and examining them, while Florian 
still waits respectfully at a little dis- 
tance.] 
Ah! — What delicious tangles would ensue, 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 213 

If I should clothe myself that Faery night 
In black, the twin of this — the hat, the mask, 
The semblance of these gems, this chain — 

this Star! 
I pledge the genius of sweet mystery 
That so I will — no matter what befall! 

[Florian approaches and with Shake- 
speare replaces the costume and jewels 
in the casket. ] 
I'll bear this with you, Florian; lock it safe. 
Then speed you with the key back to the Earl. 
[Exit Shakespeare and Florian zvith the 
casket by a low door at left that opens 
directly on a winding, stair.] 
[Enter Southampton and Bridget Man- 
ners from right. ] 

SOUTHAMPTON 

When have I not thus loved you, Bridget? 

Dear, 
I am but young in years, but old in feeling. 
My love for you has not been yesterday 
Nor yester year — but always — as you know. 



214 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

Why, then, spend words on what my life has 
told? 

Give the sweet answer which my blood fore- 
tells. 

BRIDGET 

Alas, you force hard truth when gentleness 
Is what I fain would proffer you ! 

SOUTHAMPTON" 

Hard truth? 

BRIDGET 

How may one make denial sweet? 

SOUTHAMPTON 

[Incredulously.] Denial? 

BRIDGET 

I am not meant for you, nor you for me. 

SOUTHAMPTON 

What folly's here? 

BRIDGET 

I must take courage to speak! 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 215 

SOUTHAMPTON 

[With agitation.] 
Wherefore this — 

BRIDGET 

[Calmly.] 

You are too volatile, 
Too young, and something too fantastical 
For me to trust myself — my life — to you. 
While that my Mother lives, all might go 

well; 
But if she were to die, [which God forefend,] 
I doubt your carriage of yourself. I speak 
From observation. 

SOUTHAMPTON 

[With violent agitation and anger.] 

Ah! From observation! 
O hideous and worldly-wise admission! 
While I have giv'n you all I had of love — 
Poured out my heart's whole treasure at your 

feet, 
You have been peering, — conning o'er my 
faults. 



216 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

What are you ? Why, I've hated women that 

do 
Such things. 

BRIDGET 

And you? Are you perfection's self 
That none can find a fault? I have been told 
Of women you have cruelly harmed and left. 

SOUTHAMPTON 

What bitterness and hate submerge my soul! 

BRIDGET 

If that your love so quickly turns to hate, 
Was it then ever love? 

SOUTHAMPT.ON 

Are you a vixen 
Whom I thought a dove? Oh, — I have been 
Deluded by my wealth of tenderness 
For you. It is not that I have not sinned — 
I have. But all such sinning is so much 
The custom of the only world I know, 
That, in the rash and headlong heats of youth, 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 217 

I scarcely knew it sinning, till I looked 
Within the Heaven of your purest eyes, 
And I believed that their divinity 
Would quite absolve my sins. O God! O 
God! 

sweet, first flush of boyhood's bloom and 

hope! 

Gone, gone — 

[He weeps. Then after a short pause 
speaks again."] 
'Tis done — forever done — and you — 

Be sure that you shall cost me no more 
tears — 

And if we meet the morrow, as we may, 

For streams that long have flowed in paral- 
lels 

Are not too quickly parted, you shall feel 

How cold the night has been. 

BRIDGET 

[Calmly.] Such coldness holds 
Contagion — so 'tis said. Farewell, my Lord. 

1 seek my mother, and with her, my home. 



2i8 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

{They bow ceremoniously. Exit Brid- 
get at right. ,] 

SOUTHAMPTON 

No one shall know my hurt, — not even Will- 
Already it is old as Death, and rots 
Within my flesh. I'll cut the fester out, 
And let quick Life refill the empty place 
With, if need be, a myriad living loves! 
Give me a woman of blood and fire and heart, 
However rash or sinning, so she feel! 
Yes — such a woman as draws near me now! 
[Enter Elisabeth with a paper in her 

hand, which she is reading. It begins 

to grow dark. Southampton bows 

low to Elisabeth. ,] 
Lady, why do you veil your eyes' bright 

beams 
For filthy ink? 

ELISABETH 

[Crushing the paper in her hand.~\ 

This screed, my Lord, is trash! 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 219 

SOUTHAMPTON 

I'll wager you so name all words of men. 

ELISABETH 

Indeed, I never so named yours, my Lord. 
You speak me few and write me none at all! 

SOUTHAMPTON 

I would not have them crushed, as you have 

crushed 
Those writ upon the paper that you hold. 

ELISABETH 

Do you so doubt all women? It is sung 
By every bird on every bush that maids 
Are wisest when they doubt all words of 
yours. 
[Enter Essex from right, .] 

ESSEX 

[To Elisabeth, with sternness."] 
Cousin, I'll see you home. The night is dark. 



220 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

ELISABETH 

[With gaiety and sweetness.'] 
Such guardianship were chivalry itself! 
But I'm companioned here by Lady Rutland, 
By her daughter and my gentlewoman. 
I will go hence with them. My carriage 
waits. 

ESSEX 

[Abruptly.] 
The Gods protect you! You will have your 
way. 

[Exit Essex at left.] 

[It grows darker.] 

[Enter Herbert. He approaches the 
table where there are flagons of wine 
and glasses. He pours and drinks 
several times. He then goes toward 
Elisabeth.] 

HERBERT 

[To Elisabeth.] 
Where may I find your Cousin Essex, Lady? 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 221 

ELISABETH 

[Mockingly.'] 
He flees our gaiety, and with a frown 
Departed by that door a moment since. 

[While Herbert has spoken with Elisa- 
beth, guests have entered from right 
with pages, who light them across the 
court with -flambeaux. The pages 
then place the flambeaux in sockets at 
the sides of the court."} 

GUESTS 

[To Southampton.] 
Good-night, my Lord ! 

SOUTHAMPTON 

[Going to guests, as Herbert speaks to 
Elisabeth.] 

The Stars attend your path ! 
[To Elisabeth.] 
Your pardon, Lady! 

[Exit Southampton zvith guests at left. 
Lady Rutland and Bridget Manners. 



222 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

cross the court attended by a page 
with a flambeau.] 

HERBERT 

[Who has been again drinking at the 
table, to Elisabeth.'] 

I would speak with Essex. 

ELISABETH 

Be quick and stay him in the outer court. 

HERBERT 

My thanks. [With exaggerated courtesy.] 
Vouchsafe that I attend you 
Back to the banquet-hall. 

ELISABETH 

[Aside, with raillery. "\ 

Ah me ! Ah me ! 

A woman scarce may draw her breath alone! 

[Exit Elisabeth and Herbert at right."] 

[Enter Shakespeare from the door open- 

ing on the stair at left. He holds a 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 223 

paper in his hand on which he is writ- 
ing. He comes forward and slowly 
crosses terrace to the right. He stops 
writing and the lightly held paper slips 
from his fingers near the column at 
right front. He stops.~\ 

SHAKESPEARE 

Poor Leaf! Thou doest well to fall to earth! 
The mighty tree that trembling bore thy life 
Is still forbid by Heaven to nourish thee. 
My Love is strength unlicensed and fore- 
doomed 
To pain. Yet since by its illuming fire 
I live — along this flaming pathway must 
My soul, if it be true to truth, be hurled. 
Great God! — Why should I waste my life in 

words, 
When all the force that moves this Universe 
Of worlds and suns, whirls on my Soul to 

act? 
Yet, lest Love-Madness quite destroy my 
brain, 



224 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

I'll give my passion speech, though its just 

fruit 
Be balked and turned to tragedy within. 
O woe as old as Earth! 

[With a sudden change. ,] 

Yet for the Love, 
The Love, let God be praised! 

[Enter from right, Elisabeth reading the 
paper she held in her hand before. 
She has thrown a long, dark cloak 
over her shoulders.] 

SHAKESPEARE 

Ah! 
[He steps behind the column near by. 
Elisabeth sees him and, starting, drops 
the paper she holds. It falls near the 
sonnet.] 

ELISABETH 

[With mockery.] Do you seek 
To hide from me? Am I so dread a thing? 
So to be feared? 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 225 

SHAKESPEARE 

[Motionless in the shadow of the column 
and speaking with deep, restrained 
feeling.'] 

There are prisoners, 
Lady, who are forbid to go in th' sun. 

ELISABETH 

Who is't has prisoned you? 

SHAKESPEARE 

Myself — my life. 

ELISABETH 

Why! Life is full of open doors. — Escape! 

SHAKESPEARE 

I have no right nor power to break my bonds. 

ELISABETH 

Still behind bars ! Shall I release you ? See ! 
'Tis simple and as quick as breathing. 

[She moves swiftly to him and, taking 

his hand, draws him from the shadow 

of the column.'] 



226 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

SHAKESPEARE 

[As she takes his hand.] 

Ah! 

[He stands motionless again as if in a 
trance. Elisabeth sees the paper he 
has dropped and, stooping, picks it up. 
Shakespeare makes a slight movement 
to stop her and then stands as be- 
fore. .] 

ELISABETH 

What's here ? This bears my name — there- 
fore 'tis mine. 
[She reads. ] 

To my dark Heaven's Star, Elisabeth. 

" Farewell, thou art too dear for my possess- 
ing, 

And like enough thou knowest thy estimate 

The charter of thy worth gives thee releas- 
ing; 

My bonds in thee are all determinate. 

For how do I hold thee but by thy granting? 
[She reads indistinctly. Then clearly 
again.'] 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 2.27 

So thy great gift, upon misprision growing, 
Comes home again, on better judgment mak- 
ing. 
Thus have I had thee, as a dream doth flatter, 
In sleep a king, but, waking, no such matter.' ' 

[Angrily.] 
[Your dream has carried you too far! Too 
far! 
[She tears the sonnet to pieces.] 

SHAKESPEARE 

[Springing forward and snatching the 

torn bits of paper from her hand.~\ 
Women are all alike! O stay your hand! 
IYou know not what you tear. When this 

proud Hall, 
These shafts of hardest stone, have crumbled 

quite, 
And all the pride of Times to come is dead 
And buried in a too- forgotten past, 
These words will live. 

[He stoops and picks up the paper she, 

dropped.] 



228 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

Let me see what you read 
So ardently but now and treasured, though 
You would destroy my verse! 

[He reads from a small printed sheet. ] 
The Never-present Writer to the Ever-pres- 
ent Reader: 
Be it known to the ladies of this realm that 
[Here he reads with mocking, ironical 
emphasis. 1 
" The power of cloth of gold is now less 
powerful than a month agone. An insuffi- 
ciency of pink satin causes blue satin, with 
cuts laced with silver, to hold sway. Side 
sleeves lie flatter to the sight and skirts have 
a brightness from binding with gold tinsel. 
Ruffs have become a very refuse unless set 

with Pearls " 

[He flings the paper on the table and 
laughs loudly. ] 
Ha! Ha! We look and look in women's 

eyes 
And plunge our souls into their liquid deeps 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 229 

And dream the heavenly bath holds balm 

divine, 
Tinctured with wisdom most celestial, 
The solvent for our world-tormented lives. 
We look behind the azure or the gray — 
The color matters not — the eye is all — 
And in its depths discern — a Fashion Book! 
O — O — I could both curse and weep to know 
For what slight things men stake immortal 

souls ! 

ELISABETH 

[With ironical approval.] 
Well done! Very well done! Most sharply 

said ! 
You whet your cutting wit successfully 
On yon poor sheet and — me! 

[She sits on the circular stone bench by 
the stone table and leans on it, looking 
up at Shakespeare, who still stands. ,] 

But, an you please, 
Have you observed in Pleasance or in Hall, 



2 3 o WILL SHAKESPEARE 

Where these same men, our Lords by nature 

— wise 
And strong, — of course! — of course! — 

Where do they go? 
Straight to the bird who has the brightest 

plumes, 
To her whose wit and beauty are enhanced 
So richly and so sweetly that they seem 
A treasure doubly rare. Ah, Master Will! 
Our Spring is brief; our kingdom — Hearts 

of men. 
You curse our eyes — but to your hearts, our 

road 
Must lie through yours — fickle and beauty- 
led! 
[With a sudden change to gentle earnest- 

ness.~\ 
But you are angered — I have torn your 

verse ! 

SHAKESPEARE 

. I angered? Madam, there are times when 
men 
Use anger as a sword to kill a pain 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 237 

Within the heart — as sharp as death, yet 
sweet 

As honey from the blooms of Paradise. 

[He Impetuously takes one of the Ham- 
beaux and places it near the table. 
He sits on the bench and takes the 
fashion paper in his hand.] 

Hidden within these paltry, silly words 

I'll find another sonnet which will hold 

My answer and your pardon. 

[He bends over the paper, marking the 
words, ] 

ELISABETH 

[Taking her writing tablet, which hangs 
from her chatelaine.'] 

Sport for two! 
See — dreaming here for many a day there lie 
Unwritten missives that await my touch 
To give them life. 

[She examines a leaf of the Tablet.] 

Here's one that bears your name! 
[She writes. Peter Dumpser enters 



232 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

from right, extinguishes two of the 
flambeaux, crosses the court and, open- 
ing the door to the stair that leads to 
Southampton's room, goes up, leaving 
the door ajar. He is examining a let- 
ter which he holds. Neither Shake- 
speare nor Elisabeth observe him.] 

SHAKESPEARE 

[Marking the words in the paper, speaks 

without raising his head.] 
Now picture me, a man, playing the child! 
But in this hour I am but seventeen! 
Life, pristine and unstained, once more is 

mine. 

ELISABETH 

I've won! I've won the race! My screed is 
done! 

SHAKESPEARE 

We meet at the goal ! I ended ere you spoke. 
[He draws nearer to her and indicates 
with his pencil the words he has 
marked, reading as he does so.~\ 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 233 



a 



Ah, from what power hast thou this power- 
ful might 
With insufficiency my heart to sway? 
To make me give the lie to my true sight, 
And swear that brightness doth not grace the 

day? 
Whence hast thou this becoming of things ill, 
That in the very refuse of thy deeds 
There is such strength and warranties of 

skill, 
That, in my mind, thy worst all best ex- 
ceeds ? " 

ELISABETH 

[Interrupting.] 
I'll have no more! Call you this pardon? 

'Tis 
A stern forgiveness ! I am gentler far 
To you than you to me. 

[She reads from her tablet.'] 
"You dazzle my wits. You confuse my un- 
derstanding. You destroy my ambitions, yet 
fulfill my dreams. Did your rank in this 
world match your rank as a poet, there would 



234 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

be a crown on your head and I the first to 
bow to it. For kings or principalities cannot 
compel my homage— Only to Heaven and 
Genius can I kneel.'' 



SHAKESPEARE 

[Agitated."] 

Your words are flames 
That mount in golden wreathings to my brain ! 

[A page enters from right and extin- 
guishes another flambeau, so that the 
court is lighted only by the moonlight 
and the flambeau beside the table. 
The page goes out at back.] 

SHAKESPEARE 

[Looks about, starts up, and speaks with 
still more agitation.] 

It is deep night; 
See — every guest has gone! What blasting 

shame 
To me if Scandal's mire should foul your 
name! 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 235 

Where are your people? I will take you 
hence. 



ELISABETH 

[Laughing lightly. ] 

My carriage and my gentlewoman wait — 

I will go soon! Rest here and let me speak. 

What greater shame or sin than 'Twere to 
kill 

The budding moment trembling to its bloom? 

Who knows what this half-veiled, half-dawn- 
ing hour 

Holds for us both? You know not how en- 
slaved 

And smothered women are. You are so 
great 

iYou bring me air. I pray you, let me 
breathe ! 
[She sinks back luxuriously in the seat 
and looks up pleadingly at Shake- 
speare. He has stood with an air of 
impatient anxiety. At her last words, 
he makes a step toward her.~\ 



236 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

ELISABETH 

[Motioning to the seat beside her.] 
Sit here and let us talk like two old friends, 
Who meet upon a summer afternoon. 

[Shakes pear e sits on the bench.'] 
Do you remember when almost a child, 
I went in secret, masked, to hear your plays, 
My soul then fed upon your mighty words 
And knew their greatness of itself — and how, 
Without the Play-House door I spoke with 
you? 

SHAKESPEARE 

[With the same restrained feeling.] 
Do I remember! 

ELISABETH 

Ah! Such stolen hours 
Give life to leaden days. We'll mark this 

one 
By speaking only truth — and swiftly reach 
A height we else might wait long years to 
gain. . 
[A clock without strikes ten.] 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 237 

SHAKESPEARE 

My hour stolen from time is at an end! 

A million life-times could not tell the truth, 

That bursts my heart! 

ELISABETH 

[Without noticing his agitation."] 
I often marvel how that God has made, 
A country boy — for such you must have 

been, 
So greater than our greatest here — speak 

truth — 
Do you not weary of the life we lead, 
Shut in this town, playing the games of self, 
And pride and gain and love? Do you not 

long 
For the sweet breath of hills and fields and 

flowers — 
The forest deeps — the simple folk you left? 



SHAKESPEARE 

It is not that I love not what I left — » 



238 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

But that old life fell from me like a cloak 
When once the towers of London smote my 

eyes, 
And all her mighty life beat at my heart; 
And now her noble blood flows in my veins, 
And I am one with all her great adventure. 

ELISABETH 

Is't true that you are married? 

SHAKESPEARE 

Fast as church law 
And as man's law can bind me. 

ELISABETH 

And you love — 
[Your wife? 

SHAKESPEARE 

[Starting from the bench, and speaking 
with agitation.] 

Can God forgive me if I lie 
About my truth of truths? Will God for- 
give me 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 239 

If I speak the truth and free my soul 

From this relentless flame turned inward to 

Destroy me? 

[He withdraws a few steps and puts his 
hand on his heart looking directly into 
Elisabeth's eyes.~\ 

I love you 

[Elisabeth draws back as if startled but 
returns Shakespeare's look as if fas- 
cinated.'] 

THE VOICE OF ESSEX 

[Just without at left.] 

Go tell the Earl 
Of Southampton I wait him in the court. 

A PAGE 

[Without at left.] 
Good, my Lord. 

ELISABETH 

[Springing from her seat and clinging to 
Shakespeare with fright.] 



240 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

My Cousin Essex comes! 
His rage would crush me if he finds me here — 
I thought him gone an hour since. Hide me! 

THE VOICE OF HERBERT 

[Without at right.] 
Is the Earl within? 

Go seek him. 

SHAKESPEARE 

[Taking Elisabeth's hand and with his 
other hand seising the flambeau.'] 

Come! 

[He quickly draws her across the court 
and opens the door on the stair and 
draws her after him, closing the door 
and leaving the stage in darkness as 
Essex and Herbert enter from opposite 
sides.] 



ACT III 



SCENE II 



{The scene instantly changes to a small, 
panelled room lighted by a high standing lamp. 
A low door at left. Under a massive carved 
table Florian and Peter Dumpser are strug- 
gling and quarreling over a letter which Peter 
holds. On the table stands the silver casket 
which Florian carried, and an antique vase 
■filled with roses. Also flagons of wine and 
goblets, a dish of fruit, and other viands. 
Swords and musical instruments and two or 
three portraits of beautiful women hang on 
the walls. ~\ 

FLORIAN 

[Striking Peter. ] 
O Treacherous Fox! You boast of your 
truth and virtue and steal my Lord's letters. 
Where is your consistency? 

241 



242 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

PETER 

The letter bears my name. 

FLORIAtf 

At last a wholesome lie! I have hopes of 
his honesty. [He snatches the letter from 
Peter, and reads the inscription.] " For my 
Lord Southampton." You little Viper! [He 
strikes him again while Peter whines. ,] If you 
were any bigger than a Whisper I should fight 
you to an end! 

[The door at left opens and Shakespeare 
stands in the entrance, bearing the 
flambeau. Behind him Elisabeth Ver- 
non is seen.] 

SHAKESPEARE 

[To Elisabeth, as he sees the pages.] 
Wait without, I pray you, while I dismiss 
these inopportune servants. 

ELISABETH 

[With gaiety, drawing back into the 
shadow.] 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 243 

I am invisible! 

[Shakespeare shuts the door.] 

SHAKESPEARE 

[Roughly.'] 
Out— both of you ! When Lord Southamp- 
ton learns that you fight in his cabinet he will 
give you the streets for your brawls. 

[Florian and Peter crawl from under the 
table. ] 

FLORIAN 

Please you, Master Shakespeare, I brought 
hither my Lord's casket as you bade me and 
found Peter Dumpser stealing my Lord's 
letters. 

SHAKESPEARE 

[In a hushed tone of surprise."] 
Peter Dumpser! 

FLORIAN* 

[Giving the letter to Shakespeare.] 
Read the inscription, Master Shakespeare. 
Ah, this Field Lily, Pierre, is a little marble 
tomb of vice ! 



244 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

SHAKESPEARE 

[Taking the letter reads, aloud. ,] 
" For my Lord of Southampton in his house 
in Holborn in London. For his page Peter 
Dumpser." The letter is for Peter, Florian. 
Go you down the stair. If you are small 
enough and still enough, you may yet find 
standing room in this house. And as you 
pass out, you see and hear nothing. Do you 
understand my English? [He pushes the un- 
willing Florian out and past the waiting Elis- 
abeth.'] 

[To Elisabeth. 1 
Your patience yet a moment, Lady. 

[He again shuts the door and returns to 
Peter.] 
Whence do you come? 

PETER 

From Stratford, Sir. 

SHAKESPEARE 

[In the same hushed tone of surprise.] 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 245 

Thus do ghosts stand in our path, — to warn 
us of another world than this in which we 
live! 

PETER 

I knew you, Master Will, when I was but 
a Patch, but I feared to speak with you now 
that you are become so great a man. 



SHAKESPEARE 

[Grasping his hand.] 
Country-born, and sunburned even as you, 
Peter ! But you must follow your yoke-fellow 
and without delay. I'll speak you again. 

PETER 

My letter, Sir? 

[Shakespeare gives him the letter. Peter 

continues.] 

O, Master Will! I cannot read more than 

my own name. I dare not go to Florian for 

the spelling out of my letter, and the other 

pages gibe at me. This is from my mother, I 



246 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

know. The first word I have had from her. 
Read it me, good Master Will. 

[He holds the open letter to Shakespeare, 
who half-unwillingly takes it. ] 

PETER 

[Whining.'] 
'Tis from my mother! 

SHAKESPEARE 

[Good-humoredly.~\ 

Take your pap, then, while Queens wait. 
[He reads.] "To my much loved son Peter. 

The Fever has come to Stratford, though 
not so fierce as when my mother was young. 
I fell ill of it and quaked with fear, thinking 
to die without sight of you. Many have had 
the Fever and 'tis said Anne Shakespeare, that 
was Anne Hathaway, is one and hath died a 
week since. Her children are with her mother 
at Shottery and are well. I am mending but 
I would see you, Peter, for I cannot eat nor 
sleep for lacking sight of you. Come home, 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 247 

Peter, for a space. Ask my Lord to spare you 
to your mother who is in such need of you." 
[After a long pause, Shakespeare speaks 
with awe.~\ 
Is Anne dead? Can that vivid life be 
ended? That vital tongue be still? God 
forgive my sins! I should have gone home 
before. . . . There will be years before 
this is a truth to me. 

PETER 

O, Master Shakespeare, will my Lord of 
Southampton let me go to my mother? 

SHAKESPEARE 

I will answer to Lord Southampton for 
you. Go to Stratford as speedily as may be. 
Here is gold for your journey. \}He gives 
him a purse. ] 

PETER 

[Peeping into the purse."] 
Never saw I so much gold before. I can 
never spend it ! 



248 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

SHAKESPEARE 

Stay beside your mother for a fortnight 
and then come to my Lord Southampton's 
seat in Titchfield. Look at me. Go to the 
house of Dame Hathaway in Shottery — and 
to the house of Anne Shakespeare in Strat- 
ford and bring me yourself news of — this 
fever. I write and go myself but I wish more 
certain and speedy news than the Queen's 
commands now permit. Do you understand? 

PETER 

I will do your bidding, Master Will, and 
I will bring tidings to Titchfield — if I am not 
struck by the fever myself, which the Angels 
forefend ! 

[Exit Peter.'] 

SHAKESPEARE 

[At door. To Elisabeth with sternness.] 
Enter. 

[Elisabeth enters. She looks about and 
claps her hands and laughs.] 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 249 

'Tis Southampton's cabinet! 
An adventure truly ! 

SHAKESPEARE 

Do you trust 
Yourself alone with me? 

ELISABETH 

You are a gentleman. 

SHAKESPEARE 

I am a man. And one that never knew 
Himself to be a man until this hour. 

ELISABETH 

[With an attempt at lightness. .] 
Your eyes are wild. I almost fear you now. 

{With gravity. 1 
And God forgot almost all kinds of fear 
When He made me. Indeed I do not boast! 

SHAKESPEARE 

You asked me but a moment since, 
To sit and talk like two old friends, who 
meet 



250 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

Upon a summer afternoon. And now, 
I bid you stay and speak with me — not like 
Old friends but like, (for imagery), two 

flames 
That tremble upward, ever drawn more near 
By very virtue of their light and fire. 
Yearning to fuse in one fierce holocaust 
Not caring if a world be thus consumed. 

\He leads her to a seat near the table. 
She sits. He stands near her, speak- 
ing rapidly. ,] 

I told you in the court below I had 

A wife, (slowly) I had a wife — 'tis said 

she's dead . . . 
If I should come to you quite free — with 

hands 
As clean as shriven love could make them, 

with 
A name quite low — Yet in the years to come 
With somewhat of a light upon it — Could 

you 

Crowned, golden, nimbus-like with love — with 
love! 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 251 

Such love as I give you, — Could you then 

dream 
Of loving too? Of drinking of the wine 
That Life pours out but once — the wine of 

Love. 

ELISABETH 

[With light gaiety."] 
Without such dreams how very dull and tame 
How very flat this life of ours would be! 

SHAKESPEARE 

You jest. You know not how such jesting 
stabs ! 

ELISABETH 

Is it not wisest thus to jest with the 
Impossible ? 

SHAKESPEARE 

Enough. I have my sentence. 
[He goes quickly toward the door.'] 

ELISABETH 

[Rising and following him, lays her hand 
on his arm.] 



252' WILL SHAKESPEARE 

Master Will! {Shakespeare returns.'] I an- 
swered not the truth ! 



SHAKESPEARE 

Tigress! All glowing hues — all softened 

curves, 
In motion how alluring your perfection! 
And yet as you thus clutch again your prey 
This laceration 

[He touches his heart] 

Speaks your touch to be 
That of the jungle and the hidden lair. 

ELISABETH 

[Sits and looks up at him with a sudden 
air of girlish softness and sweetness.] 
None ever spoke such cruel words to me! 
Such needless, cruel words. God's truth it is 
I love you, Master Will. 

[Shakespeare snatches the petals from 
one of the roses and flings them over 
her. They fall on her head and shoul- 
ders in a rosy shower.] 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 253 

SHAKESPEARE 

This joy's too great! 
This flaming whirl within my brain and heart 
Blurs all before me. Let me see your eyes. 
{He sits near her, looking into her eyes 
as she looks up at him.'] 
Such lakes of limpid candour! With a light 
That blinds me. Is't for me or for the love 
Of love and life? Elisabeth — Could you, 
A Star, so drop from out your sphere to me? 

ELISABETH 

Stars drop through space and none know 

where they fall. 
Should I so fall, T' would be to find myself 
Throned in another Heaven of your love. 

SHAKESPEARE 

{With fiery exaltation."] 
Your words are treasures sought and bought 

with blood 
And travail of men's souls, for ages past; 
Like argosies of spoils from fabled lands — 



254 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

And I am glad of them, as one who finds 
His Golden Fleece after long quest and war. 

[He takes her hands in his.] 
Can such eyes lie? Can the sweet, madding 

touch 
Of these delicious hands be false? 
I'll not believe it, though my heart cries out 
In blackest doubt that flings me down to hell. 

[He speaks with impassioned entreaty.'] 
Is't true that you love me? Search well your 
heart. 

ELISABETH 

[With the same girlish candor.] 
There's nothing high in me — and yet I love 
The heights. You lift me to them! 

SHAKESPEARE 

[With passionate impatience.] 

That's not love. 

ELISABETH 

Among the men who court me there's not one 
With whom my life could know a moment's 
peace. 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 255 

You are so noble — and I trust you so! 
When men are matched with men — not names 

or lands — 
In all our England, who so great as you? 

SHAKESPEARE 

[Completely softened, speaks brokenly.'] 
An unknown, country lad — a scribbling 

youth 
Who crawled foot-sore and hungry London 

streets, 
With but the visions in his plays for friends 
And retinue. Can you love such an one? 

ELISABETH 

Romance is in it! 

SHAKESPEARE 

Trifle not— the truth ! 

ELISABETH 

Indeed I love you — or — I know not love! 
I should be dull if I loved not such greatness ! 
[Shakespeare draws her to him.'] 



256 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

SHAKESPEARE 

Seal then your words in spirit and in touch 
That do not lie. 

[He kisses her. A long kiss on her lips. 
She repulses him angrily. ,] 

Now know that you are mine. 
Mine in the heart's quick beat. Mine in the 
life! 

ELISABETH 

[With anger.'] 
You dare too far! 



SHAKESPEARE 

[Flinging himself on his knees at her feet.] 

If I too fiercely crushed 

Those living roses of your lips with mine — 

Too deeply drained their honey, let my plea 

For your forgiveness be a life-long thirst. 

[Elisabeth, half irresolutely, holds out 

her hand. He kisses it reverently and, 

rising, stands at a little distance. The 

door is suddenly opened, and South- 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 257 

ampton enters. He stands in motion- 
less astonishment as he sees Elisabeth 
and Shakespeare. ,] 

SOUTHAMPTON 

[To Elisabeth, with irony. ~\ 
Lady — you strangely honor my poor room! 
[To Shakespeare, with still more biting 
irony. ] 
A tryst well-chosen — if surprising! But, 
You might have barred the door and so 

averted 
My rash and most inopportune intrusion! 

SHAKESPEARE 

[Advancing impetuously toward him.~\ 
This hour's too strangely bright, even in 

Death's awe, 
For blindness. Southampton I hither brought 
Lady Elisabeth — untowardly 
Belated in the court. Guests came and went 
And shelter from their curious eyes was 
meet. 



258 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

SOUTHAMPTON 

[His suspicion entirely disarmed.] 
Well done! 

SHAKESPEARE 

When all below at last have gone 
Safely attend her home. For I must go. 

SOUTHAMPTON 

My life for her protection! 

SHAKESPEARE 

[Going to him, takes his hand and speaks 

with solemnity. ] 

Thus with you 
I leave the dearest Treasure of my life. 
My radiant Pearl of price — long travailed 

for. 
For in this hour it is not given to me 
To stay and love my Pearl. Nor beat my 

breast 
And deep bemoan my dead — once close — so 

close 
To mine own life! My part is not to wait — 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 259 

To love — or to reflect. But to watch life 
As it flies past — wrest from its changing 

mask 
Its secrets dark or ravishingly bright, 
And then turn all to Beauty where — look 

well! 
You'll find the mirror of your own life's 

Pageantry. 
Why do I thus? (With a half smiling, al- 
most apologetic manner) 

I can do nothing else! 
I'm not a peasant — nor a courtier — 
In the Exchange how weary I should grow! 
And then — all turns to gold for those I love 
Who wait at home. I can do nothing else! 

[With awe and solemnity.'] 
They say my wife is gone! I cannot stop 
Th' immutable stern steps of destiny. 
I know my children safe — Now I must go 
Fulfil the Queen's command — for that is in 
The path that I can tread and stumble not. 
And then to Stratford. But — {he takes 
Elisabeth's hand) 



26o WILL SHAKESPEARE 

Here is my Love. 
My love incarnated — whom I must leave — 
To whom I must return — or else — I die ! 
For to reach Stratford from the Earl's, 
Where I must play next week before the 

Queen, 
I must pass Titchfield. There to taste again 
As I do now — a life transcending Life, 
Transcending even Death. 
[To Southampton.] 

So guard my Love — 
My heart's own friend — whose loyalty I 

trust 
More than I trust my own. 

[Elisabeth and Southampton have lis- 
tened and watched Shakespeare with 
silent wonder. A noise of men's 
voices, speaking loudly, is heard in the 
passage outside the door. Southamp- 
ton springs to bolt it, but it is Hung 
open and Herbert and Essex enter, 
Herbert laughing loudly. As they 
enter, Shakespeare tears the short black 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 261 

velvet coat from his shoulders, and 
gives it to Elisabeth. ] 

Quick — veil yourself! 

[Elisabeth wraps the cloak around her 

head like a hood and veils her face 

with it, withdrawing against the wall.~\ 

ESSEX 

[Angrily.] 
Southampton! Wanton as ever! 

HERBERT 

[Laughing loudly and recklessly.] 
Ah! ha! Southampton! We wait in the 
court for your conference on State matters — 
while you and Will Shakespeare are revelling 
here! [Going to the table.] By Phoebus! 
Wine — a banquet — and a Lady! You might 
have bidden us. [He pours out two glasses of 
wine and taking one goes toward Elisabeth, 
staggering slightly.] Your good health, Fair 
One! 

[Elisabeth shrinks back against the wall] 
At least I assume you to be fair! 



262 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

ESSEX 

[With grim humor. .] 
A rash assumption. Else, why the hood ? 

HERBERT 

Unveil, sweetest, and give his doubt the lie. 

ESSEX 

Since ladies of the court, or shy maidens, 
do not frequent Southampton's room at night, 
why this reserve? 

HERBERT 

[Drawing close to Elisabeth attempts, 
with drunken assurance, to snatch the 
cloak from her head.] 
Tantalize me no longer — mysterious Beauty! 

[During this scene, Southampton has 
betrayed great uneasiness. Shake* 
spear e has remained motionless near 
Elisabeth, intently listening to and 
watching Herbert and Essex. As 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 263 

Herbert touches the cloak wrapped 
about Elisabeth's head, he strikes his 
hand up and stands between Herbert 
and Elisabeth, at the same time burst- 
ing into a peal of laughter.] 

SHAKESPEARE) 

Your pardon Herbert, but the situation is 
laughable as you will confess! 

[The great sweetness of his manner, and 

his laughter disarms Herbert's anger 

and he listens as Shakespeare con- 

tinues.] 

As Essex truly says, ladies of the court, or 

young girls are not found in Southampton's 

room at night! 

HERBERT 

\Loudly echoing his laugh."] Well said! 
\To Southampton angrily.] Then again, why 
the veil ? Speak to your Incognita, Southamp- 
ton, and bid her not spoil sport with such 
mock mystery. Do your part! Come 
Laggard ! 



264 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

[He advances toward Southampton with 
an air of tipsy violence. ,] 

SHAKESPEARE 

[Gently resisting his advance. ,] But listen! 
It is amusing. A novel predicament! Some 
say Southampton's fault is youth and wan- 
tonness!" Sure he has grace and gentle sport, 
as becomes the young! Were he a wolf he 
might betray a lamb! But even when faults 
resort to him they become graces! As 
now — ! This — (He indicates Elisabeth) may 
be some imprudent Lady of another world 
than the court — possibly, alas ! of my world — 
the theatre! For through an unguarded life 
their manners perforce grow careless. What 
think you Herbert? 

HERBERT 

[With an air of wisdom. ,] 
I think it likely. 

SHAKESPEARE 

And Southampton — being no wolf — would 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 265 

spare^the crimsoning 1 of this lamb's white 
wool. 

HERBERT 

[With irritation.'] 
Why seek to shelter Southampton, who 
blushes not at all! 

SHAKESPEARE 

Faith ! I love him in such sort that his good 
report is mine also! 

HERBERT 

[Again turning toward Elisabeth.] Why 
not speak for yourself, Sweet Silence? Are 
you to be kept hidden even against your own 
will? I'll soon end that! [He again tries 
to pass Shakespeare, staggering and almost 
falling.] 

SHAKESPEARE 

[Interposing again between them.] Would 
you not feel pity if I were to let you hear a 
tale of this encounter? It is a Romance in 
one sweet-scented page. [Herbert stops and 
listens.] What if Southampton and this lady 



266 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

have but looked! But her eyes have magic 
and they draw him as by a spell. What 
if they had but spoken — but with tenderness 
rising in their hearts, drawn upward by his 
eyes that have the sun's fire in them. What if 
they but talked in the court when steps came 
near. Ever-and-ever-more-near. [He ad- 
vances slowly and mysteriously toward Her- 
bert] A man's heavy step! He approaches 
them — nearer — they see him — dark, menacing, 
and in his hand the glint of steel! [With 
growing power."} Is it her husband? She 
must be saved — saved at any hazard ! South- 
ampton springs forward — catches him by the 
throat! [With a tremendous outburst.] 
Thus! 

[Shakespeare makes a swift dart at Her- 
bert and catches him by the throat. 
Elisabeth shrieks. Herbert struggles 
and curses.] 

HERBERT 

Ruffian! Dastard! Unloose me! 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 267 

SHAKESPEARE 

[Releasing him, bursts into gay laughter. ] 
Forgive me, Herbert! I am a player and 
must ever play at life! And when the mood 
is on — my word, I know not what madness 
I do! Your pardon! 

HERBERT 

[Bewildered and credulous.] Yes — Yes! 
My pardon willingly and here's my hand. 

ESSEX 

[Applauding.] By Heaven! Quite a 
comedy, and well-played! 

HERBERT 

[With sudden irritation.] 
S'death! But your hands clutched me! 
[With sudden anger.] You hound, by what 
right do you thwart the pleasure of gentlemen ? 
Go back to your Bear Garden! [To Elisa- 
beth.] And you! So — So — Thus do our 
eyes drink your beauty. 

[He eludes Shakespeare by a swift move- 



268 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

ment and snatches the cloak from 
Elisabeth's head. At the same instant 
Shakespeare overturns the lamp which 
falls to the ground with a crash and is 
extinguished. The stage is dark. As 
the lamp crashes, Elisabeth screams 
again. Then all stand silent, ,] 

SHAKESPEARE 

[Standing before Elisabeth in the darkness.] 
Truth, Gentlemen, it is I, not this lady or 
Southampton whose blushes need shelter, and 
see how kindly has the darkness done it for 
me ! For — the truth must out — I have a fancy 
for her myself! Tis folly sure with South- 
ampton in the lists! What fortune can my 
passion have against him whose bosom is en- 
deared with all hearts! I — who am in dis- 
grace with fortune and men's eyes. I — who 
to behold desert am but a beggar born, forced 
to make myself a motley to the view. He has 
but to cast his eyes earthward and there's a 
woman at his feet! [With increasing pas- 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 269 

sion.] While I am alone — and she is to my 
thoughts as food to life. Gentlemen, at birth 
the world was given to you, but her love is 
better than high birth to me. I call for 
nothing in the Universe save her, my Rose. 
And so — your indulgence. Be she of the 
Theatre, of the Markets, or even some Night 
Wanderer of the streets, 'tis she I love — and 
by your own sacred loves, hidden in your 
hearts, I conjure you, spare mine! 

[All have listened silently as Shakespeare 
speaks. As he ceases, Herbert sets on 
the table the still filled wine glass he 
has held. He lays his hand on Essex's 
arm and together they silently go out 
of the room and down the stair. The 
setting moon now shines directly into 
the room, so that Shakespeare, Elisa- 
beth and Southampton and the whole 
room are clearly seen. Shakespeare 
continues to speak, but this time much 
more quietly and directly to Southamp- 
ton and Elisabeth.] 



I 



270 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

Thus do we Mummers rend the veil from 
our own hearts, that the sleeping nobleness in 
others may be wakened. And, so that end is 
served, it is well done. Now may Dew from 
Heaven descend upon you both and keep you 
stainless and refreshed. [He takes their hands 
in his.~\ Be true. Be true. Not with the 
truth that says "I'm true" but winks, half- 
looks, and with an eyelid's lift betrays a soul 
and splits a mighty heart; but with the truth 
that says — " Thou shalt be safe and thy love 
honored, though my name be stained and 
blotted from men's minds;" — and lives it 
out until the death of Time. Farewell ! Fare- 
well! At Titchfield on the 6th of June I shall 
be with you. Spurred by such Friendship and 
such Love, to reach a height, as man among 
my fellow-men that this our world has never 
known before. And — who can gainsay my 
word? — may never know again. [To South- 
ampton.] When all your guests are gone, 
safely attend her home. Forget not. And 
now farewell, my dearest Ones. 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 271 

[He presses Southampton's hand against 
^ his heart with both his and abruptly 
bending low kisses Elisabeth's hand, 
and goes toward the door. Exit Shake- 
speare, closing the door. Southampton 
replaces the lamp and striking a light 
relights it. Elisabeth has seated her- 
self by the table. Southampton goes 
to her and speaks, leaning on the table, ] 

SOUTHAMPTON 

[In a hard, half angry tone.~\ 
Speak truth. Is he mad? 

ELISABETH 

But partly so. 

SOUTHAMPTON 

Surely it is madness. How very strange 
he is to-night ! 

ELISABETH 

[Striving to speak lightly, .] 
So poets should be. Is poetry the daily fruit 
of most men's lives? 



2J2 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

SOUTHAMPTON 

This hour's full of torment for me. Will 
you speak truth if I do question you? 

ELISABETH 

[Looking unflinchingly in his eyes.] I will. 

SOUTHAMPTON* 

Is he — [he stops abruptly. ] He bade me 
take you safely home. 

ELISABETH 

Hark! 

[She goes quickly to the door and opens 
it. Loud voices and laughter from 
the Court belozv and footsteps cross- 
ing it are heard. She returns to her 
seat by the table. She sinks into it 
and leans back with the same aban- 
donment that she had shown with 
Shakespeare. ,] 
We still must wait! There is no haste. 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 273 

SOUTHAMPTON 

Will you speak truth? I should say, can 
a woman speak truth? All truth, I mean. 

ELISABETH 

I can — I will — to you. 

SOUTHAMPTON 

Whether I doubt or believe, I'll question 
you. Answer you what you will. Is Will 
Shakespeare mad or do you love him? 

ELISABETH 

[She covers her face with her hands in 
deep agitation.'] 
O, I believe I do! I love his greatness 
which few see as I. 

SOUTHAMPTON 

Do I not know his greatness? Hell's at 
work in my life! But we're here in the 
world. What can come of such love? 



274 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

ELISABETH 

I do not know. 

SOUTHAMPTON 

Could you give your life to him? Could 
you wed Will Shakespeare, even had he no 
wife? 

ELISABETH 

[Again with agitation.] 
O — I know not. 

SOUTHAMPTON 

And if you do not wed — I am a man — - 
what then? 

ELISABETH 

Shame! Probing to the heart the bud that 
is not yet a rose! 

SOUTHAMPTON 

Damnation! Is life to betray me twice in 
one day? I will not have it. I've thirsted, 
in the ages since this afternoon, for this 
hour. It comes quickly — but — it cheats. 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 275 

Answer again. Are you pledged willingly 
in any sense that's true, to Will Shakespeare? 

ELISABETH 

[With subtle coquetry."] 
O pledged? No — Pledged is a hard word. 
But were he another than he is it would be true 
— all true. 

SOUTHAMPTON 

He has deceived himself? 

ELISABETH 

Yes. 

SOUTHAMPTON 

Then if he is self -deceived and you not 
pledged, I'll speak: There is no treason. I 
swear that when I met you in the Court this 
afternoon my heart was empty as a shell that 
whispers of the distant sea. That sea of 
LoVe that often breaks its waves upon a 
stone. 

ELISABETH 

A stone? 



276 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

SOUTHAMPTON 

A woman can turn stone as easily as 
breathe . ... at least so Bridget Man- 
ners can! I've looked upon your beauty all 
these years. Feasted upon it as I would upon 
a sun-riped nectarine. My senses would 
have starved if I'd not seen its richness upon 
such and such a day. But I was blind. A 
little vile, yellow, speck of dust between my 
eyes and sunlight. But when I saw you to- 
day I — dried, parched by that same dust — 
knew you could fill my heart up to the brim 
with life. 

ELISABETH 

O too late! Too late! 

SOUTHAMPTON 

What do you mean? 

ELISABETH 

[With reserve.'] 
Did I not say to you that maids are wisest 
when they doubt all words of yours, 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 277 

SOUTHAMPTON 

[Passionately.] 

O words — what are words? Look at me. 
I've starved on a dream and now I'm Life 
itself for you. We're here, alone, and Life, 
its very self, no cheat or dream, is pressing 
close. Will you let it slip away? If you so 
wish — I'll go. 

ELISABETH 

No, No! 

SOUTHAMPTON 

[He kneels on one knee close to her 
knees and takes her hands.] 

May I kneel here and worship? 

[Elisabeth does not answer.] 

How still! Do I displease you so? Do you 
wish me to leave you? 

ELISABETH 

[Closing her eyes and speaking as if 
drugged.] 

No! No! 



278 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

SOUTHAMPTON 

What am I to you? 

ELISABETH 

[Slowly opening her eyes and meeting his.~\ 
The Kingdoms of the World and the Glory of 
them. 

SOUTHAMPTON 

Caught ! 

[He snatches her in his arms and kisses 
her violently. She does not rebuke 
him but reaches out her arms and 
strains him to her, returning his em- 
brace and kiss with twofold passion. 
They release each other and South- 
ampton stands, looking down upon her 
upturned face. The door is suddenly 
opened and Shakespeare enters. He 
goes toward them J] 

SHAKESPEARE 

[With deep, restrained emotion.] Forth 
from this great Enchantment I could 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 279 

not go to meet the world without one last, 
dear look. You need not speak. Let but 
my eyes, my heart embrace you both. [To 
Southampton.'] My Friend! [To Elisa- 
beth.'] My Happiness! 

[As they stand with slightly bowed 
heads, guilty and silent, he goes 
toward the door and there stops, hat 
in hand, looking at them. He calls in 
a clear voice.] 
There are my two Angels ! 

CURTAIN 
END OF ACT III 



ACT IV 

THE PYRE— THE NEW PHOENIX 

RISES FROM THE ASHES 

JUNE 1598 



ACT IV 

THE PYRE— THE NEW PHOENIX 

RISES FROM THE ASHES 

JUNE 1598 

Scene: [Bacchanal music.~\ The Garden 
and Terrace of TitchHeld, the country seat of 
the Earl of Southampton. A background of 
trees and sky. 'Across the back of stage is a 
stone ivy-grown terrace with a balustrade. 
A stone stair leads down on either side from 
the terrace to the foreground of the stage. 
Trees, flowering shrubs and flowers Hank 
either side. There is a stone seat at the 
right. In the centre at back, built against the 
stone terrace, is a fountain with a semi-circu- 
lar stone basin with a broad rim. The whole 
scene has a picturesque and romantic beauty. 
At the left above, opening on the Terrace, is 

seen the corner of a vine-covered, stone 

283 



284 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

manor-house. The windows of the house are 
lighted. The moonlight is clear and brilliant. 
Lighted lanterns of soft light colours hang in 
the trees. When the curtain rises, nymphs, 
in -filmy draperies with cymbals and wreaths 
of flowers, and satyrs and fauns dressed in 
skins and crowned with green leaves, are 
moving across terrace and steps and among 
the shrubs and trees. As the curtain rises 
they sing to the accompaniment of the or- 
chestra; as they sing they rush wildly down 
the steps, the satyrs and fauns striving to 
catch the nymphs, who elude them, laughing 
and dancing.'] 

SONG 
ALL 

For this night we are not men 
Nymphs and Fauns and Satyrs we! 

SATYRS AND FAUNS 

Peep at head and feet and then 
Furry ears and hoofs you'll see! 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 285 

ALL 

If a stranger cross our path 
Dare our covert to intrude, 
Straight we crush him with our wrath 
Drive him from our sacred wood. 

FAUNS 

If a maiden this way come 
Rightful prey is she of ours; 
Swiftly do we bear her home 
To our couch of moss and flowers. 

ALL 

For this night we are not men 
Nymphs and Fauns and Satyrs we! 

SATYRS AND FAUNS 

Peep at head and feet and then 
Furry ears and hoofs you'll see! 
[Stage Direction — The music for this 
song is abrupt and rough, and at the 
end of each verse the cymbals clash 
wildly. "\ 



286 WILL , SHAKESPEARE 

[At the end of this song the Satyrs and 
Nymphs and Fauns creep back behind 
the shrubs and trees and hide.] 

[Enter Shakespeare dressed in a black 
costume like the one Southampton has 
prepared for the Masque. He wears 
the blue ribbon and star of the order 
of the Garter. He is unmasked but 
carries a mask in his hand. He wears 
also a large black hat and cloak.] 

SHAKESPEARE 

[Removing his hat as if for more free- 
dom.] 
How clear this air! How magical these 

flowers ! 
There is some rare enchantment in this place, 
Some spirit breathing balms of Joy and 

Youth. 
I know not what awaits me here to-night, 
From Stratford, whence my messenger should 
come — 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 287 

From Stratford, where I go upon the mor- 
row; 
What word of Death — or Life renewed for 

Anne. 
I know not whether I am bound or free — 
[What comes is veiled — but this one thing is 

sure — 
This hour is deadly sweet, and brings to me 
The life of mine own life, Elisabeth! 
Through all these wasteful, fruitless days 

and weeks, 
Love-haunted, love-tormented, I have 

dragged 
Body and will to meet each hour's behest. 
While far across the miles that stretched be- 
tween 
My spirit free and swift and strong as fire 
Has flown and dwelt with her, so leaving me 
A ravished altar, bankrupt of its flame — 
A dead man, living still, whose soul survives 
But in the pleasure of his Mistress' will. 
Yet now all life sweeps back to fill my life 
And every step that brings me closer her 



288 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

Makes me tenfold a man — Nearer a god ! 
[He touches the star and ribbon of the 

Garter.'] 
For once a Prince! Though but for one 

short night, 
Sweet Heaven, send some princely destiny! 
[Bacchanal music. The Satyrs and 

Fauns creep from the bushes and 

spring upon Shakespeare singing 

roughly.'] 

SATYRS 

If a stranger cross our path, 
Dare our covert to intrude, 

Straight we crush him with our wrath, 
Drive him from our sacred wood. 



SHAKESPEARE 

[Joyously.] 
My old-time Forest-Friends at last! Come 

on! 
JVe waited for you long! 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 289 

FIRST SATYR 

Now throw him down! 

SECOND SATYR 

I'll trip his heels! 

THIRD SATYR 

I'll twist and break his bones! 

SHAKESPEARE 

Come rough or smooth, all's well for me to- 
night ! 
[He fights with the satyrs, overpowers 
them and drives them back to the co- 
vert of the bushes.'] 

SATYRS AND FAUNS 

[Singing mournfully behind the bushes 
and groaning at the end of each line.'] 
For to-night we are not men — 

O! O! O! 
Fauns and hairy Satyrs we — 

O! O! O! 



290 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

SHAKESPEARE 

[He advances a few steps."] 
A mystic night borne from a land of dreams! 
Are all my visions closing round my path, 
No dreams but substance of my life at last? 

[Soft music is hefard. A water Nymph 
rises slowly from the fountain.] 

WATER NYMPH 

[Holding out her arms to Shakespeare. ] 
Beloved, IVe risen from such far, green 

depths, 
Dashing the salt spray from my seeking eyes. 
Long, long ago — you called me from the 

sea- 1 ^- 
I heard and I am come to answer you. 

SHAKESPEARE 

[Going nearer to the fountain. He 
speaks with humour, shuddering.] 
The women of the sea must be so cold ! 

WATER NYMPH 

The women of the earth are ever false! 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 291 

SHAKESPEARE 

This even from a Water-Fay! 

WATER NYMPH 

Trust None! 

SHAKESPEARE 

Not even you? 

WATER NYMPH 

Trust no one on the earth. 
Trust me. Deep as the sea my love. Come! 
Come! 
[She holds out her arms x beckoning.'] 

SHAKESPEARE 

No love of yours for me, nor mine for you! 

But I can dream a thousand lives in one. 

Earth, sea, and sky are mine, if so I choose! 
[He goes quickly to the edge of the 
fountain. The Water Nymph 
splashes the water over him and sud- 
denly sinks down in the water and 
vanishes laughing, mockingly.] 



292 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

WATER NYMPH 

[As she sinks.] 
Deep as the sea my love. Follow me there! 
[The Satyrs and Fauns echo her laugh- 
ter softly from the bushes.] 

SHAKESPEARE 

Each briny drop a sea-kiss, fresh and 
strange. 

Through Dreams and Follies to my Star of 
Love! 
[He passes across the stage and goes out 
through the shrubs and -flowers at 
right. Enter from terrace above, 
Elisabeth Vernon and her waiting- 
woman, Phillida, unmasked, but carry- 
ing masks.] 

ELISABETH 

How long has Florian paid court to you? 

PHILLIDA 

A year. 

ELISABETH 

And how do you regard this youth? 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 293 

PHILLIDA 

I trifle with him when that he is near, 

But when he goes I would that he were back. 

ELISABETH 

In your small way you love! You'll play 

your part. 
Heed me — Lord Southampton has hidden 

from me 
Two days. Love-tokens he has sent to me 
And written words. But while he's planned 

this masque, 
Filling these shaded nooks with Nymphs and 

Fauns, 
Making sweet music sound from every bush; 
He has not let me see his face, nor learn 
What his disguise to-night. This is a jest 
To him, to whet this evening's mystery — 4 
But 'tis to me sheer torment. When he's 

gone, 
I know not where he goes, nor what he does. 
O Phillida, if you should love a man, 



294 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

Love him, I mean, so you are lost in him, 
Passed quite from out yourself, your soul and 

life 
All at the mercy of his veering will, 
Then never, never let him from your sight — 
For if you do, some mischief's sure to come. 

PHILLIDA 

I wish that you had never seen his face! 
Are men so false? 

ELISABETH 

Some do not mean to be, 
And yet are so! Florian will surely know 
What dress his master wears. Watch here 

for him, 
Until he comes — and he is sure to come, 
For from the casement in the hall above 
Where we were dallying with the other 

guests, 
I spied him speeding toward this very spot 
Down the Yew path. Garbed like a Faun in 

Skins, 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 295 

Bearing a silver casket in his arms — 
Learn all from him. 

[She points down the alley at left.'] 

He comes! Dear Phillida, 
Now fail me not I must have sight and 

speech 
Of Southampton to-night. If you should see 
My Lord, give this into his hands. Fail not! 
[She gives Phillida a note."} 
[Exit Elisabeth to house. Phillida goes 
with her to the top of the terrace. 
Enter Florian dressed like a Faun, 
carrying the silver casket.] 

FLORIAN* 

[Singing.] 

Mighty Venus, mightier Love 

Help who weareth this disguise 
Help him Heavenly Powers above 

Guard him from her dangerous eyes! 

PHILLIDA 

[She plucks a rose from roses that grow 



296 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

on the Terrace and throws it, striking 
. Florian who stops and looks up.~\ 



FLORIAN 

My Phillida! 

PHILLIDA 

What have you in that box? 

FLORIAN 

You shall not know. 

PHILLIDA 

You swore last week you would do aught I 

wished. 
And the first thing I ask you, you deny! 

FLORIAN 

Again I swear you — anything — but this ! 

PHILLIDA 

Good even ! 

{She goes toward the house.] 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 297 

FLORIAN 

Phillida! 
[He climbs to the top of the Terrace by 
means of the stone-work of the Foun- 
tain. Phillida returns. Florian lays 
the silver casket on the top of the bal- 
ustrade and sits beside it.] 

PHILLIDA 

[Drawing close to him.] 

How beautiful 
You are in your Faun's dress! 

FLORIAN 

I ever said 
You'd a rare eye for my fine points! 

[As he speaks, smiling conceitedly, Phil- 
lida swiftly opens the casket and 
snatches the costume from it, examin- 
ing it before Florian has time to take 
it from her. Enter Essex in the cos- 
tume of a Roman warrior. He hides 
and watches.] 



29B WILL SHAKESPEARE 

FLORIAN 

You wretch! 
But sure 'twas not my fault! For man is 

strong, 
God stronger, woman strongest! 

PHILLIDA 

[Eluding Florian, holds up the costume 
and ornaments laughing. ] 

Well I know 
This is my Lord Southampton's dress to- 
night 
[Still eluding Florian who tries to catch 
her.] 
Black mask and hose and doublet — and the 

star 
And chain and azure ribbon of a knight 
Of noble orders most august — the Garter! 

FLORIAN 

[Snatching the costume and putting it in 
the box."] 
I deny your guess! 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 299 

Phillida 
Your eyes affirm its truth. 

FLORIAN 

Now keep the secret you have stolen from me 
Or I am lost! My Lord awaits. A kiss? 

PHILLIDA 

Not one. 

FLORIAN 

[With mock tragedy. Kneeling be- 
seechingly. ] 

I prithee, maiden, for the good 
Of my poor soul. 

[Phillida eludes him and runs to house 
laughing. ,} 

FLORIAN 

My time's not yet but comes — ■ 
For that lost kiss I'll twenty steal to-night ! 
[Exit Florian with casket.] 



300 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

ESSEX 

The waiting woman of Elisabeth, peeping 
at Southampton's disguise. Great God! No 
woman's safe from him, nor he from them! 
He would wed Bridget Manners, eyes Elisa- 
beth, and lures her maid. Some men should 
be labelled " Poison " and imprisoned. He 
even magnetizes me when I am in his pres- 
ence. Praise Heaven, he goes soon to Paris! 
[Enter Herbert by the same entrance by 
which Essex entered.] 

ESSEX 

Well met, Herbert! 

[Enter the two pages who appeared in 
Act III, one playing with a cup and 
ball. They sit on the edge of the 
fountain, not seeing Essex and Her- 
bert behind the shrubs at right.'] 

FIRST PAGE 

[Tossing the ball and trying to catch it 
in the cup and missing it.] 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 301 

I have it from the steward's wife that Lord 
Southampton is not to marry Lady Bridget 
Manners — and more than that! 

[Herbert steps forzvard as if to silence 
the pages, but Essex restrains him J] 

SECOND PAGE 

You've missed the ball three times. It's 
my turn. [He takes the cup and ball.~\ 
What more of my Lord Southampton. 

FIRST PAGE 

You'll never guess! 

SECOND PAGE 

[Tossing the ball.~\ I know more than I 
tell. Go on. 

FIRST PAGE 

'Tis said Lord Southampton has courted 
Mistress Elisabeth Vernon with too much 
familiarity. The steward's wife had it from 
Lady Bridget's maid. The maids know it — 
the court knows it — the Town will know soon 



302 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

— everyone but the Queen — and when she 

knows there'll be a reckoning! 

[Essex starts and unsheathes his sword. 
Herbert again makes as if to stop 
the talk of the pages but Essex again 
restrains him and they list&n.~\ 

SECOND PAGE 

No news to me ! 

FIRST PAGE 

The pride of him! You fool not me with 
your mock knowledge. 

SECOND PAGE 

Do you remember the night of the game of 
swords a month since in my Lord's house in 
Holborn. 

FIRST PAGE 

Well. 

SECOND PAGE 

At ten o'clock, I fell asleep hidden in the 
alcove of the little stair by the door that leads 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 303 

to my lord's cabinet. At two in the morn- 
ing [I know, for I heard the bells strike] 
voices wakened me. Lord Southampton and 
Mistress Elisabeth came down the stair. At 
the door to the court she veiled herself and 
they passed out to the outer court and so to 
the streets. But I'll warrant you there were 
soft words and clingings before they left the 
stair. I saw her face plain. She's a rare 
Beauty ! 

FIRST PAGE 

Why told you not me before? 

SECOND PAGE 

I saw Florian beat Peter Dumpser for an- 
gering my Lord Southampton that same day. 
I held my peace because I value my skin and 
my place. But if others know, I'm safe! 
[A whistle is heard from the house."] The 
Steward's whistle! Come quick! 

[Exeunt Pages running. Essex stands 
motionless with bent head. Then 
speaks with restrained rage and pain.] 



304 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

ESSEX 

Herbert is this true? No lies. 

HERBERT 

I would have spared you! 

ESSEX 

O fooled and gulled! Under my very 
eyes! Elisabeth! My Pride! The Flower 
of all our race! Dragged down amid the 
yery ruck of women who fall in the slime of 
men's lust. Elisabeth in Southampton's 
room that night! O blind fool! Under my 
very eyes! [He pauses as if searching his 
mentor y.] What meant Will Shakespeare by 
his fond confession that so moved us? 

HERBERT 

The merest mummery, to shelter his idol, 
Southampton. 

ESSEX 

He forewarned me that afternoon that 
were we matched against each other, he would 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 305 

triumph. [Bitterly. ] But I was an easy 
dupe. How long have you known? 

HERBERT 

I heard it whispered more than a fortnight 
since. 

[Two ladies cross the terrace above, 
talking and laughing and go out at 
left] 

ESSEX 

I see blood on everything. 

PEMBROKE 

Have care! Come aside where we may 
speak unnoticed. 

[Exit Essex and Herbert."] 
[Enter Shakespeare. He puts on his 
mask, draws his hat over his eyes and 
steps aside as the two ladies re-enter 
from left.] 

FIRST LADY 

How are the mighty fallen ! 



306 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

SECOND LADY 

She was ever too proud to please me. 



FIRST LADY 

[Removing her mask and fanning herself."] 
I'm warm with dancing! I pity her the more 
because of her pride. Will Southampton wed 
her, think you? 

SECOND LADY 

If his wooing of her has been so free, why 
should he? 

[Exit Ladies.] 

SHAKESPEARE 

There's some malicious spite at work ! They 

speak of Bridget Manners and Southampton. 

Who would have thought that scandal would 

stain that snow image! But none escape! 

[Enter from terrace Phillida. She goes 

to Shakespeare with a letter in her 

hand.] 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 307 

PHILLIDA 

[Giving him the letter. ] 
My mistress bade me place this in your hands. 
[She courtesies and goes out at same en- 
trance.] 

SHAKESPEARE 

[With agitation, opens the letter without 
looking at the address. He looks at 
the signature.] 
Elisabeth ! 

[He reads.] 
"Cruel Beloved — Your absence from me has 
been winter, though summer is at our doors." 
[He passes his hand across his eyes as 
if to clear them.] 

Love, what dost thou to mine eyes that 
they behold and see not what they see 1 ? Do 

1 read right? The words all run together 
like rose-colored flames. [He reads again.] 
" These June days without you have been but 
a December night. See how I lay bare my 
heart, but mighty Love and this dark solitude 



308 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

have mastered its reserves. Seek me without 
delay this evening, for I can wait alone no 
more. Elisabeth." 

ELISABETH 

[Shakespeare pauses and then kisses the 
open letter and hides it in his doub- 
let.'] 
O Heaven! Have you in all your divine 
store a gift more princely than this? 

[He hastily masks himself and draws his 
hat partly over his eyes as Essex en- 
ters at right, unmasked. Enter at left 
Peter Dumpser in traveling costume. ] 

PETER 

[At left] 
Here comes a man with a sword unsheathed. 
No more fighting for me ! 

[He climbs the nearest tree and watches 
Essex and Shakespeare.] 

ESSEX 

[Advancing to Shakespeare with blind 
frenzy.] 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 309 

Southampton, Foul Libertine and Coward! 
Since your crime cries from the housetops, here 
on your own land, take its just requital. 

[He tries to stab Shakespeare with his 

short Roman sword. Shakespeare 

parries the blow, but does not return 

it. Essex continues more wildly. ,] 

Think you to hide from me? The very air 

whispered me your disguise. Will you let 

me kill you like the dog you are? So be it 

then. 

[He strikes again. Shakespeare defends 
himself. Essex's sword pierces his 
shoulder and in defending another 
blow, Shakespeare wounds Essex in 
the right side. Voices and laughter of 
guests is heard approaching. Essex 
staggers and falls. Shakespeare at- 
tempts to help him to rise, but Essex 
repels him and struggles to his feet. 
The guests draw nearer."] 
Curses! Fm helpless. But the end's not 
now! 



310 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

[Guests are seen at entrance to Terrace, 
at right. Essex goes toward left with 
difficulty, staggering and swaying. 
Exit Essex. Guests go out again."] 

SHAKESPEARE 

[He staunches the blood from his wound, 
laughing.] 
Ah Southampton ! This dress has stood you 
in good stead to-night. Better my sturdy 
blood than the fine wine of yours! But who 
would have thought Essex would have taken 
scandal about Bridget Manners so to heart? 
There's madness spreading in his blood and 
brain. What more dangerous than the 
wounded Lion? Where hides Southampton? 
Some warning's urgent for him. Somewhere 
in garden or in house he's to be found — and 
then — my Joy! 

[Exit Shakespeare at right.] 

PETER 

[Descending from the tree.] 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 311 

I would I were safe in Stratford! 

[Exit Peter at left. Enter Elisabeth 
and Phillida.'] 

ELISABETH 

My lord gave you no answer for me? 

PHILLIDA 

People were coming and I feared to be seen 
of them. I gave the letter into his hands and 
ran away before anyone spied me. 

ELISABETH 

It was wisest so. But there's no peace. 
Go seek him Phillida through all the Park, 
and when you find him tell him I wait him in 
the vine-covered summer-house by the Old 
Fish Pool. 

PHILLIDA 

I'll find him easily. I saw his black dress 
and blue ribbon but now amid the Masquers 
in the Pleasance near the house. 



312 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

ELISABETH 

I breathe with more ease. The darkness 
that has been around me clears. 'Tis a most 
fair night! I go to the summer-house, Phil- 
lida. Send my lord soon. 

[Exit Elisabeth at left. Bacchanal music 
sounds. Enter Fauns from right, skip- 
ping, dancing and singing. They sur- 
round Phillida and dance around her.~\ 

FAUNS 

[Singing."] 
If a maiden cross our path, 
Rightful prey is she of ours, 

Straightway do we bear her home, 
To our couch of moss and flowers. 

[Phillida struggles to escape with genuine 
alarm, but each time she tries to break 
the ring the Fauns prevent her.] 

PHILLIDA 

Let me go! Let me go! Fiends! Devils! 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 313 

FAUNS 

You're ours! You're ours! 

PHILLIDA 

[Struggling wildly with the Fauns. ] 
Fools — quit your masquerading! I'm on 
my Lord's business. Let me go! 

FAUNS 

She's ours! 

[Enter Florian, dressed as a Faun. He 
breaks the ring, lifts Phillida in his 
arms and carries her off.] 

FLORIAN 

She's mine! 

PHILLIDA 

[Struggling with Florian.] 
Ah! You shall rue this Florian. 

[Exit Florian carrying Phillida at left. 

Fauns rush off at right, laughing and 

singing.] 



314 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

[Enter Elisabeth from left back, not the 
same entrance by which Florian and 
Phillida have gone out. She calls.~\ 

Phillida ! Phillida ! Where are you? I would 

speak with you! 

[Enter Shakespeare from left still masked 
and with his hat brim pulled over his 
eyes. His cloak is thrown back. The 
Star and chain and ribbon of the 
Garter show plainly. Elisabeth goes 
toward him swiftly. ~\ 

O my Love, why have you remained away 

from me so long? But no masquerading 

can hide you from my eyes ! 

[Bacchanal music. A nymph chased by 
a Faun runs from left across the stage. 
Shakespeare has remained silent, only 
showing by a gesture, his emotion .] 

Did Phillida tell you that I should wait you 

in the Summer-house by the pool? 

[The Nymph and Faun re-enter together, 
laughing and talking. They pause 
near Elisabeth and Shakespeare. ,] 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 315 

ELISABETH 

IS peaking softly. ,] 
Yes — You are wise to remain masked and 
silent — so guarding me — for at sight of you I 
forget all but you. Follow me to the Summer- 
house. I will go first that there may be no 
evil eyes to spy, or cruel tongues to slander. 
[Exit Elisabeth at right, followed by the 
Nymph and Faun.] 

SHAKESPEARE 

God! Can such joy be mine! This ecstasy 
Is keen and sharp and held me dumb and 

still 
Before the splendour of her wondrous self. 
She bade me follow to the Summer-house 
Beside the pool. Which house, what pool? 

O Love, 
Guide thou my steps to her. Come glorious 

Hour! 
And let me live at last! 

[Exit Shakespeare at right. Florian's 

voice is heard shouting from Terrace."] 



3 i6 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

Help! Help! Murder has been done! 

[Enter Florian on Terrace, followed by 
Phillida. He rushes to centre of top 
of Terrace shouting and calling, in 
intense excitement. ] 
Help! Help! 

[Herbert and guests rush from house 
at right and from left to the Terrace, 
many bearing torches, and stand on 
either side of Florian. Others enter 
with torches from right and left below. 
Florian continues to speak loudly with 
the same excitement. .] 
Some one has tried to kill my Lord Essex! 
A dastardly murder be sure. I found him 
lying in the shrubbery behind the* house, bleed- 
ing and still. So still I think him dead ! 
[Excitement among guests, ,] 

HERBERT 

I'll seek and bear him here. 

TWO GENTLEMEN 

We'll go with you. 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 317 

[Exit Herbert and gentlemen. The 
guests crowd around Florian, question- 
ing him. Enter Herbert and gentle- 
men from below at right carrying 
Essex. They lay him on the grass in 
centre, in front. The guests crowd 
the stairs from the terrace on either 
side, with torches. Others with torches 
are grouped about Essex, Herbert and 
Florian in centre. ~\ 



HERBERT! 

Who has done this? 

[Enter a guest, dragging with him Peter 
Dumpser.] 

GUEST 

Here is a boy who knows more than he 
will tell. 

FLORIAN* 

That Rat, Pierre! 



318 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

HERBERT 

[Who has been trying to revive Essex, to 
Peter.] 
Do you know aught of this? 
[Peter is silent.'] 

HERBERT 

Come. Speak, Lout. 

PETER 

I have had trouble in my Lord Southamp- 
ton^ house before now. I would liefer be 
silent, if it please you, my Lord. 

FLORIAN 

[With an air of stern virtue.] 
Speak the truth, Pierre. The whole truth — 
naught but truth! 

PETER 

If Florian bids me tell the truth, I know I 
may! I have been in Stratford with my 
mother a month and reached Titchfield this 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 319 

evening. As I came here to the garden seek- 
ing my Lord Southampton, and Master Will 
Shakespeare, I saw two men quarrelling and 
I climbed a tree, thinking that as the quarrel 
was none of mine, 'twas best I should take 
no part in it. 

HERBERT 

Did you see who fought? 

PETER 

I saw my Lord Essex, but the other one 
wore a black mask. 

HERBERT 

What garments did he wear? What was 
his height? Tell all. 

PETES 

He was all in black, but a blue ribbon was 
drawn across his breast and a great star of 
diamonds shone upon it. A chain of gold 
was about his neck, he was of a noble port, 
and his head was as high as was my Lord 
Essex's head. 

[Florian shows dismay at Peter's words.] 



3 20 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

HERBERT 

[To guests. ] 
Disperse — search the grounds! Find this 
masked cut-throat. 

[Some of the guests go out hastily. Her-' 
bert bends over Essex.] 

FLORIAN, 

[Aside to Peter.'] 

O Pierre, you witless worm! The black 

masquer with the ribbon of the garter was my 

Lord Southampton. You have undone us all ! 

[He takes Peter aside and scolds him, 

while Peter expostulates. Herbert and 

guests re-enter, bringing with them 

Southampton masked and dressed in 

costume like Shakespeare's.] 

HERBERT 

Unmask, you scoundrel! 

SOUTHAMPTON 

What folly is this? By whose insolent in- 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 321 

terference am I dragged here? [He sees 
Essex.} What's here? 

HERBERT 

Your mock ignorance avails not. You 
were seen by this lad. [He indicates Peter.] 

SOUTHAMPTON 

You are all mad. Who has wounded the 
Earl? 

HERBERT 

[To Peter."] 
Was this he whom you saw? Answer. 

PETER 

[Whimpering.'] 
Indeed he wears the same dress and hat and 
has the same port and build. 

HERBERT 

[To Southampton.] 
Seek not to escape. 

[Enter Elisabeth at right. She waits at 
entrance listening.] 



322 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

SOUTHAMPTON 

[To Herbert'] 
Are you mad too ? 

[Enter Shakespeare front left, masked. 
Herbert and the guests show their 
surprise at seeing two black masks 
dressed exactly alike.] 



HERBERT 

An end to this folly — unmask both — or by 

Heaven there now will be force for force — 

blood for this blood. [He indicates Essex.] 

[Shakespeare unmasks and Southampton 

follows his example. Elisabeth draws 

near Southampton. Shakespeare kneels 

beside Essex and puts his hand to his 

heart.] 

SHAKESPEARE 

His Heart beats well. He but swoons. 
[Imperiously, to the guests.] You crowd too 
closely. Back that he may have more air, 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 323 

[All fall back but Elisabeth, Southampton, 
■Herbert and Florian.~\ A cordial, Florian. 
[Exit Florian to house. ] 



ELISABETH 

[Aside to Southampton.] 
O Love, was this wisely done ? Had you not 
kept apart from me these last days, this might 
have been averted. Why came you not to me 
earlier? Did not Phillida give my letter into 
your hands but now? 

[Shakespeare hears her words. He 
listens dazed. Enter Florian with a 
cordial. Herbert takes it from him 
and stooping forces it between Essex's 
lips. Shakespeare rises and going a 
few steps aside, takes out the letter 
and reads the address, while all watch 
Essex.] 

SHAKESPEARE 

[Reading the address.] 
To my Lord Southampton. 



324 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

[He stands as if stupefied, his face con- 
tracted with intense grief. Essex 
raises himself on his elbow. South- 
ampton goes to him and Shakespeare 
crosses to Elisabeth at left front.] " 



SHAKESPEARE 

{Showing her the letter.] 
O Siren, false as hell within! What glory 
dies through you! 

[Elisabeth looks in amaze at him and at 
his dress. Then she cowers, covering 
her face with her hands.] 



ESSEX 

[Pushing aside the cordial.] 
Let be. You shall not make a babe of me. 

[He struggles to his feet.] 
Call my servants. I would be away from this 
cursed place. [To Southampton.] South- 
ampton you've hampered me to-night, but 
our reckoning will come. 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 325 

SOUTHAMPTON 

[Indignantly.'] 
'Fore God, I have not lifted hand against 
you, nor even seen you this night 'till now. 
[The guests murmur.] 

HERBERT 

[To Southampton.] 
Are you a liar ! 

[Shakespeare has stood as if pondering, 
his head bowed, his face showing pro- 
found grief. He moves nearer centre.] 

SHAKESPEARE 

[At front, imperiously, aside to South- 
ampton.] 
Bid your guests go. There is untangling of 
this snarl, but 'twere better done alone. 

SOUTHAMPTON 

[Hesitates — then speaks to guests.] 
Good Friends, this accident has stopped quite 
our pleasure. That you may be the sooner in- 



326 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

formed as to its cause and satisfied as to its 
just repairing, let our Festival end now. 

[He goes toward guests and attends them 
to the exit at left back. Elisabeth goes 
to bench at right and sits, her eyes and 
face partly shaded by her hand.] 

FLORIAN 

[To Phillida as they pass out.] 
Ah ! Phillida, if you have it in your heart to 
be kind, be so now, for Pierre has shamed all 
my training! 

[Phillida gives him her hand and they 
pass out at left.] 

ESSEX 

[To Herbert.] 
Your arm. 

SHAKESPEARE 

[To Herbert.] 
That this quarrel may be the more quickly 
mended, I pray you let me speak with Essex. 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 327 

[Herbert hesitates, then withdraws a few 
steps. Southampton is at left back 
with guests, who go out. Elisabeth 
seated on the bench at right as before. 
Shakespeare is in centre at front with 
Essex. 1 
[To Essex."] 

Essex, for Friendship's sake I fought with 
you, 

To spare Southampton. Wearing his dis- 
guise 

To add another touch of mystery 

To this night's sport — Not knowing what 
should come! 

Your pardon for your wound and mine to 
you 

For this — [He indicates his wound.] 

ESSEX 

[He turns away impatiently.] 
Enough. 

SHAKESPEARE 

Ah! Wait. You are too quick. 



328 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

I claim your patience still. You would de- 
stroy 

Southampton, thus to clear your cousin's 
name. 

Tis the world's way! But there's another 
path 

Which taken now may better shelter her. 

Whispers are in the air, blown on the wind 

Like thistledown. But like the thistledown, 

To fall to earth, forgot and trampled on, 

If no one fans the air with scandal's breath. 

These two, {indicating Southampton and 
Elisabeth] be sure, or soon or late will 
wed. 

For love of her pursue no more revenge. 

ESSEX 

I cannot speak upon this now — and yet — My 
thanks. 

Herbert, your arm. 

{Herbert rejoins him. Exit Essex and 
Herbert at , left, Essex leaning upon 
Herbert's arm. The guests have all 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 329 

gone. Southampton comes slowly 
toward centre. He pauses as he draws 
near Shakespeare and looks at him with 
anxiety and fear. Elisabeth has risen 
and stands, her eyes fixed on Shake- 
speare with a half-terrified expression. 
Shakes pewe is at centre alone, looking 
toward front with the same expression 
of profound grief. ] 



SHAKESPEARE 

[Without turning his head.~\ 
Southampton. 

[Southampton advances until he stands 
at Shakespeare's left.~\ 

You, possessing all that life 
Can give to man, might have forborne my 
Love. 

SOUTHAMPTON" 

Her beauty conquered me. She was not 

pledged 
To you, or any other man. 



330 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

SHAKESPEARE 

You plead 
As ever plead the darlings of this world — 
Falsely — and yet as if of pardon sure. 
Yes — beauty tempted — and your straying 

youth 
Has led you in its riot even there. 
[Looking toward Elisabeth.] 
Where twofold truth is broken — hers and 

yours 
Both false to me. 
[To Elisabeth. ~\ 

Come. I would speak with you. 

[Elisabeth comes toward him slowly with 

the same half -terrified expression, until 

she stands on his right. Shakespeare 

turns to Southampton.] 

Do you love her? Have care to say what's 

true, 
For there is that in me that in this hour 
Would rise with ruin for you, at a lie. 
Do you love her? 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 331 

SOUTHAMPTON 

Ah! Better than my life! 

SHAKESPEARE 

How often have I heard you say those 

words, 
Each separate time about a different woman! 
[Southampton attempts to speak, but 

Shakespeare silences him by a gesture 

and turns to Elisabeth.'] 
Do you love him? 

ELISABETH 

[Her head is bowed as if in deep shame. 
Then she raises it and speaks, with an 
effort and yet with daring.'] 

I've loved so many — that — 
I do not know! I thought that I loved you! 

SHAKESPEARE 

There speaks the fearless spirit of old blood — • 
The Truth — ev'n though she shames herself! 
[To Southampton."] 



332 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

Again — ■ 
Speak Boy — these moments give you time for 

thought — 
What is your love for her? 



SOUTHAMPTON 

Once I saw fly 
A strange, wild bird my falcon could not 

strike. 
I watched it soar and thought if I could lure 
Its beauty to my wrist, touch its fair plumes, 
And warmly cherish it against my breast, 
I'd be content — ev'n though it soared away 
And I must ever win it back again. 

SHAKESPEARE 

She is your mate. Wed her. Keep, if you 
can. 
[Elisabeth looks startled and makes a 
motion toward Shakespeare, as if to 
check him. He turns to her.] 

And you — again — what is this man to you? 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 333 

ELISABETH 

[Slowly — as if unwilling to speak, yet 

unable to be silent. ] 
He is a Star — the brightest in my sky; 
There is a constellation where he shines, 
In this my world, the only world I know, 
He is a Sun — and where his radiance falls 
Life blooms, and every hour glows fair and 

rich 
With promise to my heart's untamed desires. 

SHAKESPEARE 

No other man or life for you. Wed him. 
[They stand silent as if surprised and 
shamed. Southampton advances nearer 
Shakespeare, and then withdraws a 
few steps and waits, watching Elisa- 
beth. She does not appear to notice 
him and he goes out at left. Elisabeth 
draws nearer to Shakespeare, who 
stands looking forward with deep sad- 



334 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

ness, but complete detachment from 
her. She turns away as if awed. Exit 
Elisabeth at left, but not by the same 
exit as Southampton. Shakespeare 
goes to the stone seat at right and sits. 
The lights on the Terrace and in the 
shrubbery flicker and go out. The 
stage is dark except for a gradual, 
slow lighting of the dark star-strezvn 
sky, which begins to change to the 
luminous blue of the early dawn. 
Petals and Howers of the Howering 
shrubs fall to4he ground. Shakespeare 
slowly takes off the star and chain and 
ribbon of the Garter."] 
So passes all the Dream and Ecstasy! 

[Enter quietly and timidly from right 
Peter Dumpser with a letter. He ap- 
proaches Shakespeare and gives the 
letter to him.] 

PETER 

The answer to your letter. Master Will 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 335 

SHAKESPEARE 

[With kindness, but barely noticing 
Peter.] 
Ah Peter — safely here again — and met 
No lions on the way! 

\He gives Peter money. Peter waits 

a moment and then as Shakespeare 

does not seem to be conscious of his 

presence, he goes out as quietly as he 

entered. Shakespeare opens the letter 

and reads."] 

" To Will, who is my husband, though so long 

away : I have been sick of the Fever that has 

ravaged Stratford, but now, praise God's 

goodness! I am mending and will soon be 

again in health. Whiles I was sick, by night 

and day, I thought upon you. O Will, will 

you come home to us? Your father and 

mother wait for you. Our girls are well 

grown and fairer than pride could desire. 

Your daughters ask for you. Never will I 

drive you from us again as I did once. The 



336 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

gold you send nurtures us richly, but 'tis you 
we would see. We wait for your coming. 

Anne/' 
[He lays the letter beside him on the 
seat.] 

Does anyone 
On earth desire me? 

[Enter from left Elisabeth. She comes 
toward him hesitatingly and stands at 
a distance, her hands clasped as if in 
supplication.'] 

ELISABETH 

[With almost childlike timidity.] 

I thought if I 
Might come to you in deep humility, 
Confess my falseness and forgiveness ask, 
This shame and pain that burn my heart 
would go. 

SHAKESPEARE 

[Looking at her as if spellbound.] 
How wondrous are you now as you stand 
there ! 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 337 

How dark and false! An angel ever dark 
And yet to me, loved still — though ever false. 

ELISABETH 

I meant not to be false! 

SHAKESPEARE 

I see you now 
As souls barred out of Paradise must see 
Within its gate, their fair, forbidden Loves. 

ELISABETH 

[Goes to him impulsively and kneels by 
the stone seat. His arm rests on the 
curved end of it and she bends her 
head as if to lean it upon his arm. He 
draws his arm away roughly.'} 

SHAKESPEARE 

No potions shall I drink of Siren's tears 
Distilled from limbecks foul as hell within! 

ELISABETH 

[She weeps, covering her face with her 
hands. ] 
How pitiless you are! 



338 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

SHAKESPEARE 

How pitiless 
You are! 

ELISABETH 

[She rises and half turns away.~\ 

Then un forgiven, must I go! 

SHAKESPEARE 

[He springs from his seat. She turns 
toward him.~\ 
O for forgiveness — why, that has no part 
In love! For love is love, and covers all 
Both good and ill. No more of that! And 

now 
For you and me. 

[Elizabeth sits on the bench. Shake- 
speare stands near her."] 

You will go hence from me 
To meet another life apart from mine, 
Another man's brand on you, blurring mine. 
I, to the life my blindness and my fate 
Made for me years ago. So lest the world 
Should task you to recite what merit lived 
In me, that you should love, forget me quite, 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 339 

Lest the wise world should look into your 
moan 

r And mock you with me after I am gone! 

For I, in your sweet thoughts would be for- 
got, 

If thinking on me then should make you woe. 

ELISABETH 

[Despairingly.'] 
In gaining Southampton I won the world, 
In losing you I lost my soul! 

SHAKESPEARE 

The soul 
Is made of stronger stuff! Listen to me. 
You cast a lure, a magical rose-film 
Around my life. So potent in its spell 
I scarcely dared to breathe, lest it should 

break 
And I should die. Pushed on, on every side 
Out of its magic I was thrust. It broke — 
And in the throes of that dark agony 
I knew not Death — but strangely greater 

Life. 



340 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

And that this mighty love I bear for you 

May bloom for you, I bid you to a tryst 

In some bright unseen Star, some unknown 

Star, 
Where all Heaven's debts are paid to thwarted 

man. 
[He pauses — then looks wonderingly 

about the garden.] 
That blindness that so cursed my life is gone. 
See you how vast this garden has become. 
As if an amphitheatre of the world, 
All filled with fresh, robust, substantial life — 

[Elisabeth rises startled."] 
Life that outlives our brief, tormented span? 
[He turns toward Elisabeth and lays his 

hand on her arm and speaks with awe.] 
We are not here alone. 

ELISABETH 

Alas, he raves! 
His o'ercharged heart has turned his noble 

mind. 
What sin to play with such a mighty flame ! 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 341 

SHAKESPEARE 

See you who come ? 

ELISABETH 

No, I see none. 

SHAKESPEARE 

Quite blind! 
\He turns from her. Elisabeth shrinks 
back in terror; then returns and holds 
out her arms to Shakespeare. Seeing 
that he does not seem conscious of her 
presence, she goes out, her head droop- 
ing, at right. Shakespeare looks toward 
the left at back.~\ 

They come! How strange — and yet so close 
my heart, 

Its every throb pulses to give them life. 

[In the dim light at the back of the stage 
at right, a shadowy procession of 
figures pass. They are seen but dimly. 
They represent Hamlet, Macbeth, 
Othello, Lear and, last, Prospero. As 



342 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

they pass each stops, turns and looks 
at Shakespeare, and then passes on. 
Shakespeare speaks as if dazed and 
dr earning. ~\ 

What beautiful, majestic forms are these! 

That princely youth who pierces to my soul 

With sad and supplicating eyes. Those 
kings, 

Unknown and mighty — that most noble Moor 

With soul convulsed by an immortal grief. 
[He advances a few steps nearer the pro- 
cession of figures.'] 

Command me, O ye noble ones and great! 
[He covers his eyes with his hand.~\ 

I am your servant, and would gladlier 

Serve you, than any on this earth. 
[Exit figures, all but Pros per o.~\ 

Who comes? 

What gravity of life! What wisdom stored! 

What passion past! What powers laid aside! 

Shall be so one day? You make me fear, 

Grave Shape. In thee I seem to see, the man 

To come in me. 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 343 

[He clasps his hands as if in prayer.'] 
" . . . My charms are all o'er thrown 
And what strength I have's mine own 
Which is most faint . 

Now I want 
Spirits to enforce, art to enchant; 
And my ending is despair, 
Unless I be relieved by prayer; 
Which pierces so that it assaults 
Mercy itself, and frees all faults" 

[Exit Prospero. Shakespeare passes his 
hand across his e'yes as if awakening 
from a dream.] 

They're gone! 
Were they then ever here? I saw them 

plain. 
There's that in this I do not understand! 
They live in me, and I must give them 

Life, 
And show their greatness to a listening 

world. 
The gift is mine, and I shall hold it fast. 

[The sky is changing from the clear deep 



344 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

blue of early morning to the rose of 
dawn. He looks about, .] 
Elisabeth! Gone too! And yet, still mine! 

[He. sits on the bench.~\ 
I know and hold my power in my grasp, 
Mightier than my hopes. 

[With a sudden change to keen emo- 
tion.'] 

But, O my Heart ! 
When will the life be sweet? 

[In the centre of the rose sky near the 
horizon, a luminous gold light is seen, 
as if the sun were about to break 
forth.] 

I recall once 
I wandered in the spring in flower-strewn 

fields, 
And held my little daughters by the hand; 
Close, close to me on either side, they walked 
With baby steps, breast-deep in daffodils. 
The sun poured beams upon their golden 
heads, 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 345 

The whole world laughed, and love and joy 
secure 

Stole in my heart and asked that they might 
stay. 
[He takes the letter in his hand and 
reads. ~\ 

"Your daughters ask for you." The day I 
fled 

From home, they called — " Sweet Father — 
let us come 

To you." Should I have stayed? Has all 
this pain, 

This empty heart, come from the following 

Of what seemed then the only path to tread? 

Do they still call for me? Is it too late 

To go to them? 

[The round disc of the gold light in the 
sky has grown more brilliant. It be- 
comes transparent and there is seen 
within its circle the figures of two 
young girls of about fifteen and six- 
teen years. They are standing in a 
field of tall grass, daffodils and cozv- 



346 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

slips, in golden sunlight. The blue sky 
is above and behind them. Their yel- 
low hair falls on their shoulders. They 
are bending, absorbed in gathering the 
flowers. Shakespeare rises, turns and 
sees them. He looks in wondering 
joy. They raise their heads smiling, 
as if touched by some loving influence. 
Shakespeare speaks wtih passionate 
joy.] 

My Children! Darling Ones! 

My Own ! With you to stay my empty heart, 

[He half turns to front and speaks with 

triumph. ] 

I'll make those Shapes Majestic lately here, 

Immortal in this world. 

[He turns and holds out his arms to his 
daughters.] 

Dear Ones, I come! 
[The vision vanishes. Sunlight Hoods 
the scene.] 

CURTAIN 
END OF PLAY 



Note I. — The play is historically accurate as 
to dates, principal events, etc. In some in- 
stances, actual conversations between some of 
the characters have been recorded in old private 
letters written in Latin, of which but two copies 
of translations are in existence. 

Note II. — In the latter part of Act III, and 
in Act IV, where Shakespeare speaks of his 
love, he has in several instances been permitted 
to speak for himself in the words of the son- 
nets. Where he has done so, the words are 
in italics. 

Note III. — To Mr. Roger Laneham, of the 
Court of Queen Elisabeth, Florian's grateful 
thanks are due. 



SHAKESPEARE. 
An Overture — Fantasia. 

FOR THE PLAY 

WILL SHAKESPEARE 

OF 

STRATFORD AND LONDON. 
Synopsis of the Overture — Fantasia. 

PRELUDE. 

Sylvan Music — Then Romantic and Passion- 
ate — Then Sylvan again, which continues for 
a few moments after the curtain rises. 

ACT I 

I. Song for Shakespeare, without accompani- 
ment. 

II. Song, Quartette for male voices, no ac- 
companiment. 

INTERLUDE 

Between Act I and Act II 
Expressing stormy emotion and anger — which 
dies away into music expressing night and re- 
pose, and then returns to the stormy emotion — 

349 



350 WILL SHAKESPEARE 

Then melts into a spinning song in which the 
instruments imitate the whir and thump of a 
spinning wheel. 

ACT II 

Scene I 

I. March for the Players entering Stratford. 

Interlude 

Between Scene I of Act II and Scene II, 
again expressing night and repose which con- 
tinues after the curtain rises. Love Motif first 
occurs. 

Scene II 

Music for a moonlight procession of young 
people who drift across the stage with soft 
laughter in the darkness, lighted only by moon- 
light. 

Interlude 

Between Act II and Act III, representing 
Splendor of Life and Love. Love motive. 

ACT III 

I. Love Song accompanied by orchestra. It 
is a Quartette for the four parts, Soprano, 
Alto, Tenor, Bass. 

II. Music for a procession of guests, or- 
chestral. 



WILL SHAKESPEARE 351 

Interlude 

Repeating Love motive, which leads into 
Revelry music, which continues after the cur- 
tain rises. 

ACT IV 

I. Bacchanal Music. 

II. Song for Satyrs and Fauns with orchestral 
accompaniment. 

III. Love motive and Bacchanal music. Love 

music. 

Finale 

Of Elevated, serious music, Emotional, yet 
almost Religious in character. 



AY 26 1910 



Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. 
Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 
Treatment Date: Feb. 2009 

PreservationTechnologies 

A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATION 

111 Thomson Park Drive 
Cranberry Township, PA 16066 



/-70/1\ T7a_9111 



One copy del. to Oat. Div. 



MAY 26 



